This is it, the Apocalypse
by InfluentialPineapple
Summary: Following the events in Manhattan, the Avengers are all dealing with their own unique, internal struggles and Tony finds himself playing therapist. Consumed with their own demons, they fail to see that Tony may just be the one who needs the most help. Come to find out, the apocalypse isn't necessarily a bad thing. Rated for language, violence and alcoholism. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**This is it, The Apocalypse**

**Chapter One: Hulk**

Tony Stark had a multitude of shortcomings. He was egotistical, prone to self-destruction, possessed an incredible ability to bottle everything up until circumstances became so dire that he was quite literally dying. Yet despite all these, his inability to trust, however justifiable, had become the true burden, one that weighed so heavily on his soul that he could feel it physically. He recognized it as clearly as he could the face of an old enemy, so no matter how much he vehemently attempted to ignore it, it would be there regardless, in the back of his mind, paranoia and instant distrust dominating any and all first impressions.

So when he'd placed his life in the hands of five complete strangers during the attack on Manhattan, he'd seen this act as an extreme step in the right direction and he'd figured, eh, why not take a couple more steps and offer Dr. Bruce Banner a home? In all reality, Tony had needed the company. Pepper's presence in his life was a wonderful, grounding distraction but she happened to be a very busy person and spent most days either away on business or on the phone, as she attempted to mitigate the unfavorable media attention Stark Industries almost constantly received nowadays. She was also no scientist, and Tony had found himself immensely enjoying the presence of another human being capable of not only following his scientific meanderings but _improving_ on them. It was exhilarating, bouncing theories and ideas back and forth between him and Bruce, and amazing technological and medical breakthroughs were becoming more commonplace than ever before.

Who did he think he was kidding? Bruce Banner was quite possibly one of the most trust-worthy individuals in existence, ranking alongside Gandhi and Jesus. Tony's sort of self-designated trust test, in which Bruce had been the unwitting subject, had been absolutely shamtastic in it's essence. Sure, Bruce had this slightly annoying little disability that caused him to turn large and green and unpredictable, but Tony was ok with that. In fact, as ironic as it was, he considered the Hulk just one more of the many attributes that made Bruce so incredibly genuine.

So one day, when Bruce inquired into the specifics of his Arc Reactor, something Tony had shared with virtually no one, there was only a moment's hesitation before he had decided he was perfectly ok with it.

"Here, check this out." Tony hopped onto a table and lifted his shirt contentedly, allowing a curious yet reserved Bruce Banner to inspect the Arc, it's serene blue glow revealing age and scars on the other man's face as he leaned in to observe it. "You already understand how my big reactors work so just think of this as a compressed version, small enough to fit snugly into one's sternum."

"It's incredible." Bruce stated, running fingers lightly over it's shining surface. "And you said the arc powers an electromagnet embedded in the socket casing which ensures the shrapnel remains stationary, correct?"

"Partially correct." Tony placed his fingertips around the outside of the device and located the tiny release button, pushing it, and twisting the arc within it's socket with only the slightest hitch of his breath. It was still painful to mess with this thing. He removed it from it's housing slowly, careful not to yank the device completely out. Bruce displayed an expression of minor concern, but did not voice it, obviously confident in Tony's ability to judge when enough was enough. "You see those wires leading down from the arc to the base plate? It also powers a complex pacemaker. Keeps my ticker running relatively normal, considering."

Bruce peered inside the socket and frowned. "Tony, this is an enormous cavity. Whoever did this must have removed vital pieces of anatomy just to make it fit. A substantial amount of your sternum -"

"A couple ribs, pieces of my lungs, yeah. He dug in pretty deep. Altered the entire physical makeup of my torso." Tony hadn't meant to cut Bruce off but thinking of Yinsen, and his heroic surgical proceedings was painful. Discomfort made Tony act inappropriately and this was no exception.

Bruce maintained his disapproving frown as he peeled his eyes away from the horrific socket to look up at Tony. "Can I feel around in there a little? I just want to gauge how big it is."

Tony regarded him with faux skepticism. "Well honestly _doctor_, I'd like to see your credentials before you go probing around inside me."

"Oh, save it, Stark." Bruce said, smiling and obliged himself to gently prodding the socket wall. His smile faded once more only to be replaced by a deep concern that furrowed his brow. Tony was beginning to regret this. He did not want Banner stressing over something that was done and over with. "This causes you pain, doesn't it?"

It wasn't a question. Bruce knew damn well that there was no way the invasive implant didn't cause him pain and Tony sighed, realizing there was no lying to this man as he had done with so many others. "It's...uh... uncomfortable, yes. But I'm used to it. Like I said way back when; it's a part of me now, discomfort and all."

Bruce removed his fingers and Tony replaced the arc with a series of clicks. "There's no way the natural rise and fall of your diaphragm doesn't cause it to rub against your ribs."

"Remind me to give you a cookie later for that acute observation." Tony quipped with a peaceful smile, pulling his shirt back down and pushing himself off the table. "Since we're all up in each other's personal secrets, I have a question about you."

"Tony, I'm still concerned with the chronic pain you must experience. As a doctor, I can't just sit back-"

"I want to know what it feels like to go Hulk."

Bruce visibly bristled, and Tony wondered for a moment whether or not this topic was off limits. He watched the doctor with fierce anticipation, regretting the question only slightly but still curious enough to keep himself from withdrawing it. After avoiding Tony's expectant gaze awkwardly for a minute or so, Bruce finally seemed to relent, sighing and removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "It's, uh... it's extremely complicated."

"So when you get really pissed off, do you see green instead of red like normal people?" Tony deadpanned, determined not to let the doctor wiggle his way out of this one.

Bruce emitted a sardonic chuckle and collapsed into a chair. "Not exactly. I don't necessarily black out anymore, unless I lose control of him."

"So how does it feel then? When you lose control?" Tony sat as well, resting his chin on his fist.

"It's terrifying," Bruce said, maintaining a steady gaze on the floor. "It always happens when extreme, unexpected events occur. When the Other Guy feels that I'm in danger, or that I'm losing control of my anger he forces himself through... to protect me. Imagine a perfect storm of fear, anger and hysteria. All these emotions occur simultaneously and then, the, uh... the pain starts."

"Rapid unchecked expansion of muscle and tissue," Tony elaborated, eyebrows raised, a small comforting smile gracing his features. "I don't know why you're so concerned about me, Dr. Banner, that sounds a hell of a lot worse than a little rib friction."

Smiling sheepishly, Bruce sighed and massaged his temples. "Yeah, it's certainly unpleasant."

"You always refer to Hulk as the 'Other Guy'. Like he's a being completely separate from yourself." Curiosity was something Tony could not tolerate, and he wanted answers while Bruce felt like opening up, hesitant or otherwise.

"He is. Complete with his own set of likes, dislikes and opinions. Admittedly skewered opinions but opinions nonetheless." Suddenly, he looked up, meeting Tony's gaze, his smile vanishing and his eyes troubled and glossy. The sudden change in demeanor startled the billionaire. "Tony, I don't think I can do this," He said, a small, restrained hint of desperation accompanying his words.

Baffled, Tony watched him as he ran frustrated hands through his already mussed hair. He had a feeling this unexpected angst did not originate from his prying questions, but experienced a pang of guilt all the same. "Forgive me for being blunt but, where the hell did that come from?"

"Don't you get it, Stark?" Bruce snapped, his eyes flashing emerald and Tony felt fear of this man for the very first time. He had never been the direct target of Bruce's anger before and understanding exactly what lurked beneath the normally peaceful exterior made the experience all the more humbling. "I should be staying as far away from stress and violence as possible, not gallivanting around with five people who happen to draw in chaos as though they possess gravitational pulls for it! I've got another... _thing_ inside of me that I have little control over, who reacts directly to chaos, who _feeds off chaos_, and I'm expected to be a valid member of a team?"

The doctor was breathing rather hard, clenching his fists impulsively, and Tony put his hands up in an attempt to placate this unexpected outburst. "Ok, first I think you need to take a couple of deep breaths," he suggested, keeping his fear hidden behind a mask of stern confidence. Bruce remained exasperated for a full five minutes before he was able to rein in his anger, stuffing it away in whichever dark corner of his mind was large enough to contain such a burden.

He glanced up to note Tony's worried expression and sighed, lowering his eyes once more in shame. "I'm sorry, Tony." The simple apology was more than sufficient.

"So... you want to tell me what's up?"

Bruce slowly closed his weary eyes and rested his face in his hands, obviously conflicted. "Remember when Clint attacked the heli-carrier, and I ended up trapped beneath the lab with Natasha?"

Tony nodded, worried that he knew where this was headed. His heart was still pounding from Bruce's outburst and he had to concentrate on all his individual muscles to keep his limbs from visibly quivering.

"Well, I found out later what happened, and I've been mulling it over a lot. The Other Guy... he nearly _killed_ her. And Thor, and just about everyone else on that ship. All because of a little explosion." He opened his eyes once more to meet Tony's neutral stare. Bruce's guarded expression saddened him but he contained his own emotion, resolute on remaining the beacon of stoicism the physicist felt he could rely on. "I'm a liability to the safety of the team, Tony. I'd be an idiot if I expected to completely avoid all life-threatening situations while involved in such an extreme organization. I can't participate in missions if I'm going to lose myself to every little boom."

Tony felt a smile spreading across his face as the fear and anxiety began to dissipate. He couldn't help it, really. It was all timed so perfectly. When he noticed the hurt and utterly stricken look Bruce shot him, he quickly collected himself. "What if I told you that I've been working on something that could make a majority of this problem disappear?" Ignoring Bruce's perplexed stare, he sprang up from his chair and walked quickly over to a cabinet, retrieving a large, sealed cylinder containing a bright blue liquid. He handed it over to Bruce, grinning like a maniac.

Turning it over in his hands, and finding no label, Bruce looked back up at Tony skeptically. "What is this?"

"That, my friend, is Hulk-Off. Clinically proven to temporarily eliminate 99.99% of all Hulk-related side effects including, but not limited to greenish skin, muscle enlargement, gigantism, rage-induced violence, nakedness and obsessive smashing." He beamed proudly as the ghost of a smile began to tug at the corners of the other man's mouth. "Theoretically it should reverse any unintended transformation as long as you aren't already fully Hulked-Out. Right now, if my formula is correct, it will only work when you are in-between you and Hulk."

Bruce peered into the blue contents longingly, unidentifiable emotions flashing across his face. "You know," He finally whispered, "I've been wanting to create something like this for a very long time. I just never had the lab or the resources... or the geographical stability to do so."

Tony's smile grew and he patted Bruce on the back. "Hey, I'm here for _you_. So no more of this worrying business, alright? I got you." He waved his hand in the air and a screen appeared. "JARVIS, bring up file Hotel, Oscar, Whiskey, six, two, nine."

"Right away, sir," came the smooth British voice from seemingly nowhere. "Accessing classified file, Hotel, Oscar, Whiskey, six, two, nine."

Almost immediately images began appearing on the screen before them, containing what looked like weapons specifications. Bruce placed the serum on the table next to him and stood to view the file. "Are these-?"

"-all the ways in which every member of the team can administer this serum based on their individual skill set at any given moment?" Tony interrupted, flipping through the data. "They are indeed. Check this shit out. I've designed non-lethal hollow ammunition for Natasha's pistols, tracking darts for myself, serum infused arrow heads for the Hawk... um, honestly I'm still working out what to give Cap and Thor without freaking them out-"

"Tony, this is amazing." Tony ceased rattling off information to take notice of the way Bruce's voice wavered when he spoke. Surprised, he glanced over at the doctor, and was relieved to see no tears. Instead, a gratuitous smile had pushed it's way in among the wrinkles and stress and pain as he inspected the renderings. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

"Well that's what happens when you're friends with Tony Stark. You receive well deserved gifts for managing to deal with my bullshit on a near-daily basis."

"Thank you."

Tony looked Bruce in the eyes, elated to see the last ounces of his previous anxiety melting away to reveal content, like frost off a window after a long, long winter. "No need to thank me. I'll be damned before we lose our Hulk. I'm pretty sure I watch the security footage of you slamming Loki around like a dirty rug no less than twice a day."

Bruce laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh.

_A/N: Ok, so initially I had intended this to be a one shot. Crazy, right? Well I kinda got caught up in the interaction between Bruce and Tony and, upon realizing that just this one situation was becoming very lengthy and elaborate, decided to make it a short series, about 6 chapters long. This is basically a test fic, in which I attempt to write all the Avengers as in-character as possible and see how I do. I'm gonna need a lot of help on this one guys so reviews are very, very much appreciated. Please let me know if I screw up anyone's character via constructive criticism. Next chapter, prepare for a little bit of Clint angst. Good times shall be had by all!_


	2. Chapter 2

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter 2: Hawkeye**

It was a quiet summer's night when Clint Barton decided to drop in. Quite literally drop in, as he descended from the rafters of Tony's private kitchen, landing behind him silently while the engineer prepared a sandwich. Upon turning around to discover one of the world's most dangerous assassins standing there casually as though he paid rent, Tony released a strangled yell, the plate holding his BLT flying into the air and landing in pieces on the spotless tile. Clint was nearly doubled over with laughter as Tony attempted to stave off an approaching heart attack, staring at him in disbelief, then confusion, then anger. Clint's laughter died down to a series of chuckles and he wiped his eyes.

"JARVIS, _why_?!" Tony ground out through gritted teeth as he bent to collect the scattered remains of what had at one point promised to be a very delicious snack.

"Sir, I seem to recall you designating all the Avengers as non-hostiles in my programming some time ago." The AI responded.

Clint looked at Tony, one eyebrow cocked and grinned. "Hah, bad move, Stark."

The glare Tony shot him would have sent anyone else running, but Barton just sauntered over to his refrigerator, opening the massive door and inspecting it's contents. "JARIVS, you're in trouble."

"Indeed, Sir, I will remove myself to time-out immediately."

Clint released a snort of amusement from the depths of the ice box and Tony rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. At times such as these, he regretted allowing the JARVIS program to develop into such a sentient being, capable of complex and incredibly human emotions such as worry and appreciation for humor. He sometimes reminisced about the days when JARVIS had been nothing more than a basic assistant, completing simple tasks such as turning on his lights in the morning and maintaining all his various projects. Over time, the AI had evolved considerably and independently, becoming a complicated string of data and algorithms even Tony had difficulty understanding. But in all reality, he really couldn't ask for anything better. The AI knew everything about him and, in most instances, was far wiser. Regrets disappeared when Tony considered the astounding fact that JARVIS was his best friend. But he was still furious with him. Seriously, he couldn't warn a guy? It made him wonder if his computer had been in on it the whole time.

Having finished policing up his mess, Tony turned to regard Hawkeye with pointed disdain. The other man had extracted a yogurt from the back of his refrigerator - _ugh, is that even still good?_ - and was currently pouring the contents into his mouth as he sat upon the island in the center of the kitchen. He was dressed in his usual SHIELD-approved uniform, and his bow and quiver were slung across back. "You know, there's a reason I don't have bird feeders. Birds are dirty and loud and disease-ridden and tend to attract other pests like squirrels, chipmunks... spiders." Tony glanced up at the ceiling, "I'm curious, is there one up there now? I'm gonna be pretty upset if I walk into any webs on my way back to my bedroom."

"Nat's on a mission." Clint said simply, scraping the remaining yogurt off the inside of the container with his finger, seemingly unfazed by Tony's words. "She won't be back for a while."

"So... what, did you get lonely? Having some separation anxiety? Do you normally scale fifty-one floors and swoop down on unsuspecting innocents in your spare time, or am I just the privileged exception?" Typically, Tony would have welcomed the new addition into his tower no problem... had his sense of security not been so forcibly violated. He knew Clint was far more skilled than most, but he had proven it could be done. Even without JARVIS identifying him as a possible threat, it still unnerved him.

His words either had zero effect on the archer or he possessed one of the most practiced poker faces Tony had ever seen. He assumed the latter, considering the fact that he was a trained spy, and marveled at the nearly expressionless mask he was presenting. Clint scooped the last dregs of yogurt into his mouth and tossed the empty container into the trash with absolute precision. "Actually, I'm here on orders." He said, ignoring Tony's incredulous face. "I'm to stay here until the director issues new ones."

Tony scoffed, not willing to believe what he was hearing. "Orders? You're kidding, right? Last I checked I'd never offered up my tower to act as one of SHIELD's duty stations."

Barton shrugged indifferently, withdrawing his bow and inspecting it. "Or you could help out a teammate... or a friend. I'm just doing what I'm told." he said, looking up at the billionaire with a raised eyebrow.

Groaning, Tony ran frustrated hands through his already disheveled hair. "You break into my tower, nearly send me into cardiac arrest... I feel like my home is being commandeered for needs of the military. I'm almost positive they outlawed that." His words rang with dissent but inside he was beginning to feel like an asshole. Unfortunately, he happened to be a slave to his own inertia and he would argue his point until old age rendered him wrinkled and frail, even if he knew he was damn wrong.

Smirking, Clint hopped off the island, bow replaced in it's holster. "Since when has the law ever stopped us?"

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Is that a threat? That sounded like a threat."

"No, I meant us in general. The Avengers, not SHIELD." He chuckled. "For someone so intelligent, it's amazing to me that you still think I'll just comply with every little thing SHIELD demands. I'm no man's bitch, and I'm _definitely_ no slave. If they told me to take this tower, I'd tell them to shove it up their collective asses."

Tony could detect no hint of deceit in Clint's words and mannerisms, but this was a damn spy in front of him. Barton was a walking, breathing lie, just like the Black Widow. Two peas in the same untrustworthy pod. "Why?" he asked, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in doubt.

Clint looked at him, his expression unreadable. "It should be obvious, really. You, Banner and everyone else on this team would save my life at the risk of your own. SHIELD would leave me to die somewhere if the price of helicopter fuel went up. You guys are flesh and bone. SHIELD is an unfeeling bureaucracy."

Tony considered this silently, considered the sincerity in Clint's voice as he'd spoken. Now he really felt guilty. It was true, on the battlefield, he would gladly give his life for every single one of them. But he'd had no idea that Barton found his bond with the team to be more meaningful than his allegiance to SHIELD. It warmed his heart in a strange, bromantic sort of way. "Ok," he finally relented after a long uncomfortable silence, "Ok, but why didn't you call or something? Send a freaking carrier pigeon with a little note strapped to it's foot?"

"Too risky. Coming here was an extremely covert operation."

Tony laughed. SHIELD was unbelievable. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm sort of high-profile. The media has been known to squat in tents outside my building."

Smirking at him, Clint leaned against the island, "Sometimes hiding in plain sight is more efficient. Baddies historically rule out the obvious places immediately."

Tony was sick of the enigmatic and noticeably unelaborated explanations. He was tired and overworked and didn't have the patience for riddles. "You're being infuriatingly vague with this whole thing, Barton."

"Just know that I've recently pissed off a good number of very secretive, very powerful people. In a nutshell, I was given some inaccurate intelligence and my cover was blown."

Tony knew immediately that this was all the information he was going to get. He sighed, exhausted, and motioned for Clint to follow him. "Come on, I'll give you a room. Just don't leave droppings on my vehicles, bird-brain."

oo00oo

A few days went by without incident. Clint generally came around for meals with Tony and Bruce but remained fairly scarce otherwise. Tony quickly became suspicious, not taking the high-speed archer for someone who was content in remaining idle, and told JARVIS to keep an eye on him. Much to his great chagrin, he discovered through JARVIS's monitoring that the Hawk enjoyed traversing the intricate maze of air ducts the tower contained. Quite a few surveillance videos depicting Clint leaping into the many vents scattered around the building surfaced and Tony was so impressed he couldn't possibly be angry. Stark Tower was enormous and it was a miracle Clint didn't get lost somewhere and die only to turn up later as the result of a foul oder complaint.

At the end of the first week as they all ate dinner, Tony and Bruce conversing excitedly about the concept of terraforming and how it could be made possible, the billionaire turned to acquire Clint's opinion on the matter, and found the archer staring dead-eyed at his uneaten food. Glancing worriedly at Bruce, Tony snapped his fingers in front of Barton's face a few times.

"Hey, Barton, you wanna live on Mars someday?" No answer. The Hawk continued to stare blankly, his eyes dull, empty and soulless. "Barton?"

"Hold on," Bruce rose from his seat and felt for Clint's pulse on his neck. He grimaced slightly. "His heart rate's elevated, and he's surprisingly cold."

Tony got up as well bringing his face as close as was safe to Clint's own, "Barton? Clint! _Hawkeye_!"

At the mention of his superhero persona, Clint gasped, his dead gaze slowly returned to normal, and Tony leaned back, unsure what the man's next move would be. Breathing deeply, his eyes darted all over the room, wild and fearful until they stopped to focus on the concerned faces of his teammates. The fear disappeared, replaced by embarrassment, and a thin film of sweat broke out on his face.

Tony approached him cautiously. "You, uh... you alright there, arrow head?"

"What?" He said, a little too quickly. "Yeah, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Bruce and Tony exchanged confused glances. "You were completely comatose." Bruce explained quietly. "Have you been ill recently?"

"No, I'm fine." Clint insisted, standing and heading towards the door, stumbling subtly on the way. "Not hungry. I'm just gonna go-"

But wherever Clint was going, they wouldn't know. He had exited the room hurriedly without finishing his sentence. The scientist and the engineer stood in stunned silence, neither of them able to comprehend what had overtaken Clint.

Tony finally broke the silence, unable to stand it much longer, "Bruce, you're a doctor, please explain to me what in the seven hells that was about."

Bruce just shook his head, perplexed, a hand resting on the back of his neck. "I have no idea."

oo00oo

Tony could not sleep that night. His mind was plagued with the frightening image of a dull-eyed, unresponsive Clint Barton, looking as much like a dead man as... well, a dead man. Fueled by coffee and the urge to drive the picture from his thoughts, he worked furiously, submerging his brain in the comforting flow of productivity.

He vaguely wondered if Bruce was handling this any better than he was. The doctor had gone downstairs to his room, but his eyes had been haunted, the unexplainable event obviously troubling him, and his inability to correct it leaving him feeling helpless and inept. Tony understood the feeling on a different level. He was a genius, brilliant, quick-thinking and extremely competent, but regarding medical expertise and human anatomy, (with the exception of the torso. Thank you, heart-shredding shrapnel) he was completely unsound. So when presented with a problem to which there was no mechanical or mathematical solution, he was left feeling invalid, as though his presence consumed too much space and his lungs wasted too much oxygen.

As he began piecing together the anti-Hulk arrows he'd planned, the extreme precision necessary for such work distracting him quite well, JARVIS' voice broke through his music, the AI's tone foreboding. "Sir, I believe Agent Barton requires your presence immediately."

Tony froze, anxiety instantly building in his chest. "Brief me, J."

"He appears to be in a great deal of pain."

_Shit_. "Where's Banner?" Tony snapped, dropping his tools and heading swiftly towards his private elevator. "Wake him up and send him to Clint's room."

There was a small pause as Tony stepped into the elevator, sending it to the forty-eighth floor where he'd put Barton for the duration of his temporary stay. Finally JARVIS responded "Sir, I'm afraid Dr. Banner is not present in the tower."

The elevator descended, and Tony fumed. "Then call him, dammit! Tell him to get his ass over here _now_!" He growled, furious at the thought that Banner deemed tonight of all nights just perfect for a slick disappearance.

"Right away, Sir."

The elevator halted on the forty-eighth floor and Tony slid out before the doors had even opened completely, sprinting down the long, dark hallway, following the bouncing glow of his Arc. He reached Clint's door and stopped dead, steeling himself for whatever he would find inside, and hoping to whatever it was that's out there that he was capable of actually _doing_ something. With a deep, steadying breath, he opened the door.

Stepping into the room, the only thing he noted initially was the lack of a body underneath the twisted blankets strewn across the bed. Worried, curious and terrified, he just stood there, staring into the semi-darkness until a groan from the other side of the bed nearly made him jump out of his skin. He rushed towards the sound to discover a shirtless Clint, twisting and writhing and moaning in perceived agony, his eyes closed and his black sweatpants clinging to sweaty skin.

"Holy shit..." Tony breathed, not at all certain about what to do. Whatever was assailing Clint was internal or completely invisible. Tony could mold physical matter and elements like play dough, but when it came to the human body, he only knew how to destroy.

This did not seem like a typical nightmare. Clint looked as though he were attempting to fold into himself, clutching at his abdomen and his chest, his jaw clenched in pain and the carpet beneath him absolutely soaked in his sweat. Clint released another loud moan and Tony had to physically shake himself from his horrified stupor. "JARVIS, run a scan," he said, defaulting to language typically reserved for machines in his discomfort.

"Heart rate 145 BPM, blood pressure normal, no obvious physical signs of trauma." JARVIS replied.

"Then what the hell is wrong with him?" Tony insisted, desperate for any answer.

"I am not a mind-reader, Sir."

"Real helpful, J." Kneeling next to his fallen comrade, Tony grabbed Clint's shoulders and shook him violently. "Hey, wake up! _Wake up_, Clint!" he shouted, panicking.

Barton punched Tony hard in the jaw. The billionaire was knocked back with the force of the blow and he gasped as pain splintered through his face. He gaped at the Hawk in disbelief, holding the quickly forming bruise, as Clint continued to writhe, unaware of anything other than his own internal anguish. Terrified hesitance suddenly morphed into seething anger and he growled, hauling himself back onto his knees beside the other man. This time, he dodged the incoming blow and returned one of his own, striking Clint square in the side of his face. Barton's head snapped to the right and he instantly quieted, remaining completely still.

_Oh, God_. Fear gripped Tony. "JARVIS?"

"Agent Barton is alive, Sir. It seems you have successfully relieved him."

Tony was incredibly relieved himself and he released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding with a great _whoosh_. He sat back on his calves and stared at Clint's peaceful form apprehensively, wide-eyed and confused. Before he even had time to collect his scattered thoughts, Clint's eyes snapped open and he gasped, the same painful sound he'd emitted at dinner that night. Traces of that familiar distanced, dead-eyed look were slowly dissipating, and he laid there on his back, his arms spread out on either side of him, panting. He looked stricken and haunted, his expression pained. Tony wondered if he knew he was sitting right next to him.

He scooted back a bit, wanting to be well out of arm's reach, should things turn sour. "Evening, Barton." He said quietly.

Clint didn't jump, didn't even react for a good minute, just laying there until his breathing slowed to a normal rate. Tony waited patiently, curiosity virtually bursting from him. Finally he began the slow arduous task of hefting himself up onto his elbows and turned to glower at Tony. The billionaire offered him an awkward half-grin and a shrug.

"Get out." Clint hissed.

"Nope."

"_Get out_."

"No." Tony glared back at him, mocking his furious look. "This is _my_ tower and you are a guest in it." He tried desperately to keep a hold on his composure, but inside he was extremely frightened, his body tense and ready to bolt at any moment.

Clint growled, a feral sound, and sat up slowly, maneuvering himself so he was leaning up against the bed. Just this slight movement seemed taxing and the effort shone clear as day on his face. This concerned Tony. He knew Clint to be extremely guarded about whatever aches and pains ailed him, preferring to ignore them completely rather than addressing them for treatment. Why exactly he would allow himself to seem so hurt, so vulnerable now, in front of Tony Stark was beyond comprehension. "You might as well not waste your time." Clint said.

Tony waved this concern away as though it were a nuisance fly buzzing in his face. "Guy, I got nothing but time. I can do this all night. Banner's already on his way, he'll have you patched up and good to go."

"Tell him never mind." Clint demanded, eyeing Tony warily. "There's seriously nothing at all he can do."

"Well he's coming anyway. It can't hurt if he just-"

"No! Call him back!" Clint yelled, fury flashing across his usually stoic face. After that outburst, he calmed instantly, resting his head against the mattress. "Stark, no one is supposed to know about this."

Noticing the opportunity to gain Clint's trust, Tony obliged. "JARVIS, you heard him."

The AI remained silent but Tony was positive he was in the process of selling Bruce a convincing cover story. Clint nodded at him in approval. "Thank you. Now go away."

Tony scoffed indignantly, "Oh no, I did not just call Bruce off you so I could be placated with lies."

"_Please_ go away?" Clint pleaded quietly. He was obviously exhausted but Tony refused to leave until he was sure Clint could not be helped by modern medicine.

Tony affixed him with a questioning gaze, his brow furrowed and a slight frown formed in worry. "I'll go away, only when I'm sure you're not gonna die in here and stink up my tower. Why do you think Bruce can't help you? It's what he does."

Sighing, Clint lolled his head around to look at Tony, "You cannot tell a single soul, Stark. I'll murder you myself." he said, looking skeptical and Tony inwardly cringed. He would rather not be murdered by Clint Barton. He figured seeing death coming was more comforting than being killed instantly... with an arrow in your spinal cord. At least when you knew it was coming, you could at least attempt to ask forgiveness for your past sins.

Tony nodded. He hoped he looked assuring. When Clint just stared at him, he cocked an eyebrow, "I'm not pinky-swearing you, if that's what you're wondering about. Your secret's safe with me."

"You couldn't handle my pinky-swears." Clint said, with an intensely straight face and Tony wondered if he should laugh or take this as a threat. Did Clint kill people with his pinkies?

"Why do you think Bruce can't help you?"

Clint sighed again, this one deeper, emotional and not just annoyed. "Stark, this isn't something physical or even mental. It's more... extraordinary."

"Psh, don't flatter yourself," Tony said half-heartedly. "What, did SHIELD inject you with nano-bots or some- OH!" He snapped his fingers in realization. He could practically feel the heat of the lightbulb hovering over his head. "Not physical, not mental... _magical_."

Clint chuckled at the irony, "I think the meaning of the word 'magical' is up for debate."

"It's Loki, isn't it?" Tony seemed excited, upbeat, even a small smile began to surface. "Loki left some footprints in your head."

"Stark, don't get wierd. This wasn't some fucking riddle I made up for your amusement." Clint was glaring angrily at him and Tony had the grace to be embarrassed.

"Right, sorry. So, Loki's not escaped or anything, has he?" Tony asked.

Clint rubbed at his eyes violently, and Tony worried for the safety of them. "Not that I'm aware of. And trust me if Loki had escaped, we'd already know." He stopped rubbing and stared sadly at the ceiling, hands falling limp at his sides. "No, you were right. I think it's just lingering effects of his magic. It's like shell shock but far more intense, because... well..." Clint's words drifted into nothing as he struggled with whatever it was he wanted to say. Tony waited patiently, quietly, allowing Clint the time he needed. "Stark, I swear to God if you tell another living soul-"

"Ok, ok! I know. You'll tear out my guts and strangle me with them. Got it." Clint looked at him, skeptical once more and seemed to be reconsidering. "Look, who knows. If you tell me about it, there's a slight chance I could help you. Or even just get JARVIS off your back. If you don't then you'll never know."

Clint seemed to consider this for a moment, his confliction apparent in the way he shifted nervously and fidgeted with the carpet fibers. Finally, he glanced at Tony before looking up again to stare into space. "I can see them. I can see all of them. In my dreams, on the faces of other people... I even hallucinate. Sometimes they stand right in front of me." He said, voice unsteady.

Tony sighed, understanding instantly. "The SHIELD agents." He didn't feel the need to elaborate further.

"That's not all," Clint's voice hitched and he swallowed heavily. "Every night, I become them. And every night, I die as they did. I feel all the pain, every fucking bit of it, as they die." He said these words slowly, his eyes never wavering from the ceiling.

Tony couldn't help but be horrified. "You- you mean in a nightmare?" He stuttered, and it sounded ridiculous, but this he hadn't expected. He wondered if he could endure becoming Yinsen every night as he'd died. The shudder that claimed him was extremely visible.

"No, more of a hallucination, or a black-out or something, I don't even know what it is." He spat angrily, not because of Tony's question but because of the unfairness of it all. "I become them, I die as them... and I see myself killing them. It's like I'm being punished every goddamn night for this. And it's been going on since we defeated him."

Tony wanted desperately to bolt, to run away and hide and count his various blessings, as his discomfort increased dramatically. But he was stuck in this. This was a monster he had asked to carry and now he had to bear it's weight or be crushed by it. The blue light from his arc illuminated Clint's face just enough to glimmer off a single tear rolling down his cheek. Tony hated every second of this and was damn-near positive there was nothing he could do to stop it. This was still considered science fiction, while he continued to dabble in science fact and he had no idea how to handle magical anomalies like this one. Perhaps if he enlisted the help of Thor, or studied the Tesseract... but no, that would mean bringing another person into this, something Clint did not want. And bringing the Tesseract back to Midguard could be disastrous in itself. But what if Bruce...

"Hey, JARVIS. Erase all security footage of this room. Lock it in a box and bury it somewhere and never dig it up again. Also cease all active recording of anything that happens in here. Any footage from here on out should be deleted in real-time." Tony said, concentrating hard on Clint's face and musing over any possibilities available to relieve him.

"Right away, Sir"

"After that, start a new file on my private server and collect everything related to the Tesseract, Loki, Thor the damn aliens, everything about them. I want it all in there." Clint turned to look at Tony once again. He never said anything, but Tony witnessed hints of astonishment, gratitude and hope all flash across the other man's face momentarily.

"Estimated processing time: forty-five minutes."

"Perfect," Tony smiled at Clint before standing and heading towards the door, determination driving him into autopilot mode. "Enough time for a shower and a couple coffees."

"Hey, Stark," Came the quiet voice from behind him and he stopped and turned back to look at Clint, who had collected himself enough to appear almost normal. Almost. He paused, gaze shifting to his feet before saying: "I still think you're kind of an asshole."

Tony chuckled, understanding that he really didn't mean it and at the same time realizing that this was the closest thing to a 'thank you' Clint Barton would ever give him. "Likewise." He said with a grin, and left the room to head back to his lab, anticipating his new, daunting yet incredibly worthwhile project.

_**A/N**__: Clint is difficult. There's very little footage of him hanging around and this whole thing is strictly movie-verse. Let me know what you think._

_For chapter one, a HUGE thanks for all of your wonderful and inspiring reviews! Oh, gosh I never expected so many people to like this. Many of you left very in-depth feedback, which I appreciate so, so much. A special shout-out to Angelzodica013 for her break-down of what was basically the entire freaking chapter. Thank you so much! And yes, you may kiss my brain. Thor next in which some drinking occurs. Gotta keep it diverse and unexpected. _


	3. Chapter 3

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter 3: Thor**

Tony found out later that Clint had lied about his reasoning for seeking asylum in the tower, and he pondered it now as he stood on his balcony, a half finished glass of scotch in his hand. Not through any direct admission, of course but it had been painfully obvious about a month after his arrival when an angry Nick Fury had given him a call, asking for the whereabouts of his feathered agent. Not being entirely sure about Clint's circumstances, Tony had skillfully feigned ignorance and directed Fury along a different route. When approached about it, the assassin had promptly swore and disappeared without a word. It had been three days now since Tony had last seen him.

It didn't bother him, though, how Clint had lied. Tony assumed he had his reasons, none of them sinister, and was actually quite amused that he would attempt to skirt Fury's all-seeing eye.

In the mean time, Tony had been absolutely consumed by his ongoing research into Loki's magical qualities, scouring through all the related files he'd had JARVIS round up for him and trying desperately to piece together an equation he could understand as his subconscious viciously reminded him that there probably was none. Magic was exactly that; magic. Unpredictable, unexplainable and utterly irritating beyond reason. It infuriated him to be presented with anything that eluded his very robust realm of understanding, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was attempting to put a puzzle together when there were simply no pieces.

Speaking of magic, where did this storm come from? Tony eyed the sky warily as dark clouds billowed and undulated above him, blotting out the moon and appearing from seemingly nowhere. He nearly dropped his glass as the first crash of thunder shook the flooring beneath him, making him jump violently. Backing up slowly until he was underneath the covered portion of his balcony, Tony peered out from underneath it anxiously watching the sky and assuring himself that tornados did not typically touch down on the east coast.

"JARVIS, what is this?" He inquired, maintaining a steady voice, but finding it very difficult to do so.

"I believe you are about to have a visitor, Sir." The AI replied playfully.

Tony threw his hands up in legitimate frustration, ice flying from his empty glass. "J, didn't we have a talk about this? I don't think I can handle any more-" He never got a chance to finish when a bolt of lightning struck his tower right in freaking front of him and he was actually thrown back with a horrified shout, glass flying into the air and shattering nearby. As the electricity in the air dissipated, and he was able to muster the strength required to sit up on his elbows, he immediately felt stupid for questioning the storm as he watched Thor Odinson approach him, just absolutely beaming with happiness.

"Man of Iron! How good it is to see you again, my friend." He exclaimed joyfully, setting down the enormous barrel he had tucked under one arm and offering a hand to Tony, who took it absently, quite literally too shocked to refuse as he allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. "I come bearing drink from the vineyards of Asgard in celebration of my arrival!"

"Good to see you too, buddy," was his weak, breathy reply. Tony wasn't sure which annoyed him more, the fact that the alien god acted like it was completely normal to almost kill people with lightning, or the way in which he strode casually into his home, carrying the barrel as though it were nothing heavier than a pillow. The part of his brain that operated with rationality quickly reminded him that customs and courtesies in Asgard differed greatly from those of this world and he was able to reign in his anger faster than what was typical for him. Plus, it was just too difficult to remain angry with Thor. Like a giant puppy. You can't stay mad at a giant puppy.

Tony sighed deeply and prepared himself for what promised to be a very long night as he followed Thor hesitantly inside the tower. "I pity the man who has never experienced Asgardian drink upon their lips." Thor offered, setting his barrel down on the bar. "We shall drink until rational thought eludes us and our vision swims."

Regarding him with skepticism, Tony retrieved two glasses from behind the counter and handed them to the god, who promptly filled both of them with an amber liquid from a spigot attached to the barrel. "Are you even capable of getting drunk, big guy? I thought that was, you know, a puny human thing."

"Oh, I am very capable, Man of Iron." he said, handing the inventor his glass, the contents of which smelling absolutely toxic. "The joys of inebriation are not limited to Midgardians." Thor supplied him with a knowing smile and Tony couldn't help but feel anxious about this whole thing. Which reminded him...

"So what brings you to this neck of the universe?" He really hoped Thor's arrival did not mean some great threat loomed on the horizon. He was still recovering from his near death experience that accompanied the last one. When the larger man threw his head back and began chugging his drink, Tony very stealthily poured his own down the sink, replacing it with his more familiar and less deadly scotch.

Finishing, Thor slammed the glass down on the bar with enough force to shatter it on impact, and instantly had the grace to look remorseful. "My apologies. It is custom on Asgard."

Waving it away despite his annoyance at the prospect of cleaning up even more broken glass, Tony grabbed his bottle of scotch and rounded the bar, sitting on a stool next to Thor and handing him a new cup. "I've got hundreds more. Tell me, what brings you down to mingle with the humans?" He drank his scotch fast, knowing that this night would require more alcohol in his system than what it currently contained.

Thor's expression suddenly darkened and he leaned over for a refill from the barrel. "The Allfather grows weary. He does not know whether he will be able to maintain enough power to send me here should my assistance be required." He downed another cup, and this time was able to control the urge to smash it, setting it gingerly on the bar.

Tony did not know Thor very well, but the research required to possibly solve Clint's issue had taught him a lot about Norse mythology. Which was funny when one considered the word 'mythology' applying to a being who currently happened to be sharing drinks with him. So he understood the terms 'Allfather' and 'Asgard' without the need for Thor to elaborate. "Dad doing ok?" he asked as he poured himself another scotch, genuinely curious if all was alright in the other world.

Thor sighed deeply. Tony got the distinct impression that the god was prone to wearing his heart on his sleeve. "My father is burdened with the task of keeping my brother imprisoned." He said quietly, voice wavering just enough for Tony to notice, but he did not point it out, understanding that this was a touchy subject. Thor refilled his cup again, drinking half of it before stopping to glower into its depths. "Loki has grown powerful and the Allfather fears he may one day be beyond constraint."

'_Yikes_.' Tony had almost nothing to say to this and resorted to taking a long, long sip from his cup in his discomfort. The demi-god continued to stare angrily into his drink for a moment before releasing a sigh and defaulting to a wide smile as he looked at Tony.

"But let us not toil over the distant happenings of Asgard. I wish to know the news of this realm."

Raising his eyebrows, Tony pondered this for a second. "Well, Barton's avoiding SHIELD agents, Cap's going it alone somewhere in Brooklyn, Natasha's on a mission, once again not entirely sure where, but when are we ever? And Bruce is staying here in the tower. Not a whole lot happening, really. After you left everyone kind of went their separate ways."

"And yourself?" Thor inquired, and the billionaire couldn't help but feel slightly warm and fuzzy inside at the thought of a mythological Norse god caring about what he was up to in life.

"Nothing big. Working a lot."

"Hmm," Thor hummed into his cup as he drank, finishing and refilling it again. Tony was beginning to wonder how much of the odorous poison it would take to make him loopy. "Hard work is the staple of a virtuous life."

"Yeah, but it can really piss off your girlfriend." he grumbled. The booming laugh that followed made him smile. '_Yup, here we go, the beginnings of a drunken demi-god.' _

"You are good company, Friend Stark." Patting Tony on the back hard enough to make the inventor grunt and cough, Thor grinned at him, big and goofy. "Do you wish to have another?" he asked gesturing to the barrel.

Tony grimaced, his reactions unhindered due to his own oncoming inebriation. Honestly, he hadn't been drunk in a very long time, finding no desire in it since the alien invasion. This, however, was a well-deserved reprieve. "No, I think I'm good on that stuff. To tell you the truth, I doubt my pathetic body can handle it. It might actually kill me."

This was a sincere sentiment but it earned him more boisterous laughter and Tony began to chuckle as well, finding Thor's to be contagious. Why didn't he hang out with this guy more often? Oh yeah. The whole other side of the universe thing was a real drag. "This is joyous news, as it will leave more for myself."

As the night continued on into the wee hours of the morning, Tony discovered that he enjoyed Thor's company immensely. The god's humorous recounts of his many glorious battles were intriguing and entertaining and although Tony had not been alive nearly long enough to supply quite as many of his own, he still alluded to his single-handed decimation of the Ten Rings, of which Thor approved greatly. One thing he noticed about these detailed tales of heroism, however, was that Thor would avoid any mention of his estranged brother. Upon inadvertently including Loki's participation in a few of his stories, the god would stop to gaze sadly off into the massive collection of alcohol behind the bar and seemed to reset himself before continuing as though nothing had happened, the story noticeably lacking any further mention of the imprisoned trickster. Eventually, predictably enough, and through his drunken haze, Tony could not stand the curiosity any longer.

"How about this brother of yours? What's his beef with you anyway?"

Thor's mood instantly soured and a deep frown settled on his face. He seemed thoughtful and furiously so, and Tony spent a moment in subtle terror as he wondered just how far he was able to push this issue before he was reduced to a black smudge on the floor. "There is disagreement within our family as to who the rightful heir to the throne of Asgard is. He believes himself to be king, but does not share the royal blood of my ancestors." Thor explained and downed another cup.

"It's like a classic Disney movie." Tony chuckled heartily but immediately stopped when he was speared with a disapproving glare. Dammit, he needed to control his stupid mouth.

"Although I have no knowledge of this 'Disney movie', this is no laughing matter. I considered Loki family as I do my father and my mother, no matter his blood origins. I do not deem it right, how the Allfather hid the truth of his existence from him for so long, but what Loki did was traitorous and terrible. His betrayal brought great shame to my father and hurt us deeply."

Tony sighed, feeling terrible for his friend. He understood such a betrayal better than most and identified with him greatly on this issue. Thor continued to scowl at something behind the bar and Tony suddenly felt obligated to share his own experience. It was only fair, since he'd basically pulled this out into the open to be studied and examined.

"You know, I knew this guy once, Obidiah. He was like a father to me in every aspect, even more than my real father was." Thor looked at him, obviously noticing the sincerity in his voice, and watched Tony with rapt attention. "I'd known him my entire life, and when I grew up he helped me run my company. He was there through every rough patch and stood behind me for almost every decision I made. Until one day, when he tried to take this from me." He tapped his arc reactor and Thor's eyes widened with horror. "He ripped it right out of my chest and almost killed me. Come to find out, he'd paid a terrorist group to assassinate me during a weapons demonstration. They captured me, instead and held me prisoner for three months."

Compassion shining deep in his blue orbs, Thor looked away from him to stare into his empty cup. Tony wondered if half the keg had finally been enough for him. "Your trials plague you, Man of Iron, as do mine." He lamented quietly.

"It's hard to think about, yeah. But then I ask myself what kind of person I'd still be today had I continued to live in ignorant bliss. If not for him I would have never had the chance to be a part of the Avengers. In a way, it was worth it." He offered a shrug and a half smile in response to Thor's intense gaze.

"Whatever happened to this Obidiah?" Thor questioned.

Now it was Tony's turn to scowl into the shelves behind the bar. "I killed him." he whispered and gnawed at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

Thor nodded with understanding, and seemed to contemplate the inventor's story silently. Tony was just glad he didn't receive some kind of venomous disapproval of how he'd ultimately solved the whole Obidiah problem. The god had done everything in his power to keep his brother alive through all of their confrontations, no matter his various misgivings and Tony's violent disposal of his former mentor felt incredibly wrong in comparison.

"I do believe it is time for me to retire, Friend Stark." Thor said wearily. The inventor couldn't have agreed more as his eyelids became terribly heavy. Perhaps he should get shit-faced with an armor clad god more often. It certainly wore him out enough to make sleep an inevitable blessing.

"You're more than welcome to stay here. It may not be as lavish as the halls of Asgard, but I'm positive it's pretty damn close."

Thor smiled at him again and seemed far less burdened by his troubles than he was before. "Your home is one to be admired, even within my own realm."

Tony beamed. For some reason this statement made him very, very happy. "Well, twelve percent of it was Pepper's work so I can't take all the credit." And Thor laughed along with Tony even though there was absolutely no way he understood this intimate inside joke between him and his girlfriend.

_**A/N:**__ Oh, Thor was fun! I hope you guys had as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it. I honestly went into this terrified of writing him out of character, but I think it turned out ok. Please tell me what you think! Also, Natasha next in which I have no idea because her secrets' secrets have secrets._


	4. Chapter 4

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter Four: Black Widow**

It was a long-shot, Tony knew as he glowered down at the two identical ear pieces he'd just finished putting together and the integral, titanium remote control which corresponded with them. The truth was, the very sight of them made him anxious, as they resembled the paralysis inducing ear buds he'd designed far too closely for him to be entirely comfortable with them. In fact, there was a very comprehensible explanation for this; he'd actually cannibalized parts from the one solitary set he'd kept after the design was scrapped in order to create what currently sat in front of him. Now to try them out. If this went wrong... God help him if this went wrong.

"Hey, JARVIS, where are we with those diagnostics?" He asked quietly, gnawing the inside of his cheek in fathomless, daunted thought.

"I am 53.07 percent complete with preliminary diagnostics, sir. Additional composite data is necessary before commencing human trials."

Tony smiled derisively and released a single huffing snicker. "You act like you know me or something, J." He commented, taking a long drink from his coffee mug as he stared unwavering at the screen displaying the data being accumulated. "Any hiccups so far?"

"None so far, sir. But I must discourage attempting to test the device on yourself before conducting secondary and tertiary analysis'." JARVIS' voice contained a hint of exasperation, as though he already knew his efforts to dissuade his creator were in vain. "Perhaps you should get a bite to eat and, afterwords, some rest."

Rolling his eyes, Tony began flipping through the data with practiced swipes of his fingers. "Eating's for the weak and sleeping's for the dead. No time. And stop being such a worry wart." But the symptoms of sleep deprivation were becoming hard to ignore as his hand shook before his eyes, the digits weak and their movements jerky. His heart rate had sped up significantly and he knew if he rose from his chair, a dizzy spell might just bring him to his knees. It had been sixty seven hours since he last toiled through yet another nightmare plagued, fitful endeavor he'd learned to accept as a necessary part of living. That didn't mean he relinquished himself incontrovertibly to sleep's deceptive pull, however.

"Sir, I see no need for such a hurried pursuit. Agent Barton has not yet returned to the tower."

The AI was being pushy, but Tony considered this all the same, lips flattening into a straight line. Indeed, Clint had not returned to the tower since his esoteric disappearance nearly three weeks prior, but this extended absence had done nothing to discourage Tony from unraveling his mystery. He'd poured over thousands of SHIELD documents containing information about the specifics of the invasion, everything from broad-spectrum events right down to the schematics of Loki's magical walking stick. Eventually he was capable of drawing an irresolute conclusion from it all... but it was exactly that; untested, unconfirmed. He had no idea whether the blind experiment before him would work as intended, or blow someone's head off. He sighed dejectedly and ran a hand through his unkempt hair in annoyance, detesting the limitations of the weak, human body. "What time is it?"

"It is currently 0746, sir."

Rubbing his eyes, Tony reclined in his chair and lifted his feet to rest crossed on his desk. "I should just start administering pure caffeine intravenously." he mumbled to himself. His eyes stung and he blinked through the blur he'd rubbed into them. "Coffee's not doing it for me anymore. What's the general consensus on energy drinks nowadays, J?"

"Still highly detrimental to your health, sir, especially for those with heart conditions."

"Hah! Guess I'll be sticking with coffee then." There was a quick beeping sound and he turned in his chair to look questioningly at his telephonic receiver screen. It flashed red synchronously with the noise and displayed the words 'blocked call'. He frowned. "JARVIS we've been over this. Consulting hours are eight to five every other thursday - "

"Today is Thursday, the eleventh, sir."

Although he knew better than to expect others to be present in his workshop, Tony still careened his head around to check for witnesses in his embarrassment. "...Oh, well then patch it through, what're you waiting for?"

As soon as the call was answered a serious feminine voice on the other line spoke before Tony had a chance to even greet the caller. "Stark."

The voice sounded familiar but he couldn't relate it to a face in his current state to save his life. So of course, his dumb ass had to make an assumption. "Ma'am, I very much enjoyed the night we spent together, in fact I still think about it to this day, but I'm actually in a very stable, loving relationship-"

"Dear God, is that some kind of prepared speech you give to women you've slept with?" That voice... cold yet dangerously seductive.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, eyebrows nearly penetrating his hairline in surprise. "Romanoff!"

There was a disgusted scoff on the other end. "You're a moron, Stark. I'm en-route to the Tower now, ETA thirty minutes. Thought I'd give you a heads-up. Might have to hang around for a while"

Tony ran his hands down his face with a perturbed groan. His trust issues ran deep within his very muscles and Natasha Romanoff had yet to quite make up for her past traitorous actions in his eyes. "Look Charlotte, I appreciate the call, because honestly you're the only one _to_ call, and I've had a lot of unexpected visitors lately, but just what makes you think this little piggy is gonna let you spin a web in his barn?"

"Because the day may come when you're up for slaughter, little piggy, and I may just forget to tell the farmer 'no'." She shot back, her own annoyance barely discernible in her voice. Tony released an incredulous chuckle, clearly impressed with her wit. "Look, Barton's injured and he says you and Banner are the only people he trusts right now."

This put Tony on the edge of his chair, back rigid and straight-faced, all snarky comments stored in his mental hard drive to be used in another, less pressing situation. "What's his status?" he asked, hands flying to retrieve current video feed of the Tower's infirmary.

There was a pause on the other end. "...not good, Stark. He suffered multiple gunshot wounds to the abdomen. I'm not sure how dire the internal damage is." There was concern lacing her words and it was contagious. If the Black Widow was worried...

Surveillance feeds of the infirmary appeared, suspended in thin air. Three personnel occupied the pristine white innards. "JARVIS, get those fools out of there and tell Banner to prep for emergency surgery. He should be the only one on that entire floor. Everyone else, unless it's life, limb or eyesight, needs to be steered away."

"Right away, sir."

"Romanoff," Tony once again addressed the line, brow furrowed with concentration, as he also quickly drew a secure route through a digital blueprint of the tower. "What's your mode of transport?"

"Air." The response was short, simple and Tony appreciated it.

"Remaining distance?"

"Not far enough to justify deploying Iron Man." She said, reading his thoughts. Freaking spies, man.

"When you get here land on my balcony. I'll be there to personally welcome you." He watched the video with satisfaction as three confused employees cleared the infirmary without hassle. JARVIS was very skilled at fabricating false circumstances for all the strange happenings around the company.

"Fifteen minutes, Stark." Natasha reminded him, although a timer already counted down right to the remaining millisecond on his display. The line was cut and Tony dialed a new number on a ghostly touchpad, as he watched Bruce enter the deserted ward below. The figure on the screen, presented to Tony in breathtaking high-definition, answered his own buzzing device and held it to his ear as he began to scrub up.

"A little busy here, Tony." He said, irate.

"I know, just listen a sec. Do whatever it is you need to do and be upstairs on the balcony with a gurney in about... 13 minutes. I'll be down to help you."

"Got it." Bruce stated, before cutting the line and Tony smiled despite the dismal prospect of Clint entering major surgery in less than twelve minutes. The doctor raised no questions and very obviously trusted Tony's word even when he had limited knowledge of exactly why he was prepping an operating room. He knew Bruce struggled with his own variant of deep seated confidence obstacles, having been sold out to the government for experimentation multiple times and Tony understood that it took a lot for him to blindly follow directions like this.

Satisfied with all his preparations, the nervous inventor jumped up from his seat, and rode his private elevator down to the twenty seventh floor, the entirety of which was dedicated to a state of the art infirmary. He sprinted to the operating room from which a completely scrub-clad Bruce was just emerging. He was attempting to guide a large gurney through the swinging double doors and Tony rushed to help him from the opposite side. "You good, doc?"

Bruce offered him a thankful nod and they both ran the gurney to the elevator. "Yeah, but painfully lacking in the number of available surgical technicians."

Tony grimaced noticeably in response to Bruce's pointed glance as they ascended to the top floor. "Well... Romanoff's with him, I'm sure she-"

"Tony," Bruce interrupted him, his tone calm and assertive. "You possess the technical know-how required for this. And I'm certain it outweighs Natasha's."

Shifting anxiously from foot to foot, Tony avoided Bruce's expectant gaze. He knew damn well he was by far the single most qualified individual in the tower capable of assisting given the lack of any better alternatives. His outstanding manual dexterity developed over years of piecing together sometimes near-microscopic feats of engineering was pretty much unrivaled and he understood completely why he should do it. But the thought of witnessing it first hand was terrifying.

"Bruce, I uh... You know I can't handle the whole hospital scene very well. I mean, I avoid watching Discovery Health for Christ's sake." The elevator stopped and they rushed out to the balcony. The quinjet was just visible in the distance, a tiny spec hovering like an insect before the setting sun. Bruce walked around the gurney and grabbed Tony by the shoulders, surprising the inventor who couldn't help but meet his stern gaze.

"I know," He said, voice compassionate as he looked into Tony's fearful eyes. "But this isn't the time to let your memories own you. This is our friend, Tony, and he needs our help."

The quinjet was getting closer and Tony took a deep steadying breath as he watched it approach. "Lay on the guilt thick, don't you Banner?" he said quietly and Bruce smiled at him before releasing his shoulders with a reassuring pat.

"You'll do fine." He said and Tony returned an uneasy smile.

Minutes later the quinjet landed in front of them, the wind from the turbines tousling their hair and whipping their clothes. Natasha was the lone occupant of the cockpit and she cut the engines before leaping into the back. Tony and Bruce pushed the gurney around to the open hatch where they found her emerging with an unconscious, bloody and very ashen-faced archer, his left arm draped over her shoulders. Tony began feeling nauseous at the sight of his injured, gore-covered friend but he bit it back as he helped heft Clint onto the stretcher, laying him down gingerly as though he were a priceless antique.

Natasha seemed worried and a little shaken as she nodded at both of them curtly in greeting but that was about the extent of any outward emotional response. Wordlessly, they all rushed their injured teammate to the infirmary, their faces set in concentrated determination and Tony wondering the whole time from where exactly he could pull the strength he needed to get through this.

oo00oo

After nearly twelve hours of painstaking effort, during which Tony nearly had to excuse himself multiple times for fear of puking on their patient, the two geniuses were finally able to extract all three rounds from Clint's abdomen and stabilize his previously dipping vitals. Natasha had kept a strict vigil right outside the operating room, and when Clint was moved into the adjacent intensive care unit, she continued her unwavering observance, settling herself into a padded armchair next to his bed.

Completely blacked out due to the anesthetic and various sedatives, the Hawk remained ignorant of her dutiful guard as a ventilator religiously pumped air into his lungs and IVs routed fluids into his veins. This didn't deter her though, and she stared at him and held his hand and spoke softly to him in multiple languages in a rare display of affection that almost threw Tony off guard. Bruce fretted over the unconscious form in another way and Tony helped as best he could, fetching supplies or changing out empty saline bags as they attempted to restore the blood Clint had lost. He could see the exhaustion in the other man's face and as the clock struck noon the following day, Tony, being the ever resilient insomniac he was, insisted he could handle whatever needed to be done for a short time while Bruce got caught up on sleep. He experienced some pushback from the persistent scientist but eventually Bruce gave in and left the ward, providing Tony very specific instructions regarding Clint's care.

He didn't dare suggest that the Black Widow leave her post. Instead, he pulled a chair up next to her and sat, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers interlaced. Natasha continued squeezing Clint's hand as she gazed stoically at him. She didn't even look tired and Tony marveled at her resolve. They sat in silence for quite a while before Natasha finally spoke to him, her first words in english since she'd arrived.

"Thank you." She said quietly. Tony looked at her, eyebrows raised but she maintained her fixed stare on Clint. "When Barton told me he'd let you in on what was happening to him, I didn't believe him. I thought it was a joke. But he insisted that I'd misjudged you."

Shrugging, Tony crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "Nothing new to me. People see the wealth, the fame... the weapons and they think 'wow, that guy's a certified a-hole'. Totally comprehensible, of course, even though I left that behind long ago. I guess coming close to death five or six times to protect people just isn't good enough for some."

This was meant to strike a chord, to dig really deep into her consciousness and pull out a heated, retaliatory response, but she gave no indication that she'd even heard him. Tony knew Natasha was exceptionally intelligent, and acutely skilled at what she did, so he didn't doubt for a moment that the Black Widow had felt the harsh chill of the ice coating his words. Maybe this was the wrong time to address the persistent bitterness he felt for her actions against his company, himself and most infuriatingly, his relationship with Pepper, but this time, the world wasn't in danger of being invaded. There was currently no pressing need to keep himself in her good graces.

"If this is in relation to the inquiry I conducted to evaluate your suitability for the Avengers Initiative, then I'll tell you now that I continue to hold no regrets." She said, her voice cold and apathetic. "I came to the most unbiased conclusion based upon various character flaws and deficiencies I witnessed at the time."

Frustrated and indignant, Tony glared at her menacingly. "In my own defense," he growled through gritted teeth. "I was literally on the brink of death when you conducted your _evaluation_."

"You piloted a fully weaponized, mechanical exoskeleton capable of inflicting damage that registers on the Richter Scale while belligerently drunk." She said this simply, as though that event alone was more than enough to warrant her scathing review. "Regardless of your status, that type of behavior is unacceptable and detrimental to what we are trying to achieve with the Avengers. It's also illegal."

"Because you're just a shining example of moral upstanding, aren't you?" Tony hissed, composure quickly slipping away. "I'm not saying what I did was right, but who the hell are you to judge me? I'm sorry not everyone is capable of reacting to burdensome circumstances, like the prospect of impending death, with the intricate level of dispassion you so readily tout. Not everybody's a goddamn emotionless robot."

She turned around to look at him then, blue eyes affixing him with restrained anger. "And just who do _you_ think you are to judge _me_? You know basically nothing about me, and yet you continue to make uneducated assumptions about my life."

"Then, please, enlighten me!" He shouted, his rage spilling over, fists clenched in his lap and eyes narrowed. "You walk around like some kind of untouchable enigma, and you expect everyone to just accept your cold-hearted, militaristic approach to everything you do without questioning the means in which you do it. As long as the mission gets done, no one's supposed to give a shit."

Seething, Tony could practically feel the heat of his malcontent emanating from his very pours as Natasha just shook her head almost sadly at him. If he didn't know the Black Widow was capable of effortlessly disposing of him, he would want to strangle her. "You've truly learned nothing, Stark. Even to this day you persist in proving my initial report correct in all aspects."

"Tell me, is it narcissistic to care about the possibly troubled past of a fellow teammate?" He shot back.

Raising one eyebrow, she seemed to consider this. "It is when you do so in the hopes of satisfying your own curiosity." She concluded.

Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony released a frustrated groan. "Curiosity, right. You know what? You're absolutely correct. I am curious. I'm curious as to how you can move through life with such detachment and remorselessness."

"Something you have no business knowing." Natasha said with an indifferent shrug.

Tony regarded her with disbelief. "So that's it then? You're content with knowing all my dirty little secrets and yet, you consider yourself above divulging any of your own. I suppose it takes a narcissist to know one."

She visibly blanched at his accusing tone and he felt a slight amount of demented satisfaction in seeing hurt on her face for the first time since he'd known her. "Do you honestly think that you're the only one with trust issues?"

"No, but I didn't exactly get a say in who got to know about the intimate details of how I was tortured in Afghanistan, right down to the very methods they used." His tone was lower now, but still cold, still full of that deep animosity he'd kept bottled up for so long. "I just want to understand you because I feel like if I do, I could come to terms with what you know and how you waltzed into my life and repeatedly shit on what little protective boundaries I had left." Feeling powerful and glimpsing success in the distance, Tony allowed her the time she needed for reflection. She was studying him, the hurt he'd witnessed now gone and replaced with a tiny hint of guilt.

"I'll tell you a little something about me, Stark." She relented quietly, and Tony perked up his ears, genuinely shocked at his apparent ability to best the Black Widow at her own game. "But for two reasons. The first being that my misguided partner here trusts you for some unidentifiable reason. The second, to avoid having to offer you an insincere apology for something that I was tasked to do and quite frankly, I have lost zero sleep over."

Tony nodded in acceptance of this. "Cold but somewhat understandable. Go on."

She sighed deeply and turned to look at Clint who remained stationary in his relentless, medication induced slumber. "I'm the product of the demented ambitions of a man named Ivan Petrovitch. When I was very young, he took me from the orphanage I lived in and gave me to Russia's Black Widow project to be trained as a spy and an assassin. They didn't just train me in the traditional sense. They also injected me with a techno-psychological compound which effectively stunted any feelings of remorse I would inevitably experience. It was necessary, or so they deemed it, to have assassins who would execute their tasks ruthlessly and with as little apprehension as possible."

Watching her as she spoke, Tony slowly became aghast at the implications of what she was telling him. "You literally can't help it." he said, his open mouthed gape surly looking ridiculous upon his face. "Your entire brain chemistry was altered so you could kill without question. The cruelty is unbelievable."

"I don't dwell on the past." She said dismissively.

"Well of course you don't. You're physically incapable of doing so." Natasha turned to him again, watching him gaze into space while he contemplated her story. "Techno-psychological." he mused to himself. "It suggests that whatever compound they injected you with is mechanical in nature. Nano-technology, perhaps? Designed to systematically attack your hypothalamus and frontal lobe in order to erase any occurring feelings of guilt or retrospect in real time. You know, if it _is_ mechanical, I could design a counter compound to neutralize the effects and destroy whatever is doing this to you. I would just need a blood sample and-"

"Stark," She interrupted abruptly, ceasing his thoughtful rambling, and he met her gaze to find annoyance in her features. "Did it ever occur to you that I prefer to be this way?"

He furrowed his brow, skeptical of her true feelings. "I don't see why you would." he said sincerely.

"Because if I allowed myself to suddenly feel guilt for everything I've done, all the lives I've taken in cold blood, the emotion could quite possibly kill me."

He regarded her sadly, realization dawning, and sighed with half-hearted acceptance. "Fair enough. I'm sorry."

"Just focus on helping him." She nodded at Barton. "He told me you've been working on it."

Shaking the remaining effects of his disturbing discovery from his mind, Tony concentrated on the new topic of conversation. "Yeah." He confirmed, nodding slowly and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. "I've come up with a pair of ear plugs designed to emit a psycho-therapeutic, counter-hypnotic frequency to be worn at night. The frequency should cease any left over effects of Loki's magic and, over time, heal his mind."

As he watched the small smile appear slowly on her face, he realized something else; Natasha Romanoff was still capable of basic human emotion in some subtle form, and it was apparent in the loving way she gazed at Clint Barton. She wasn't nearly the lost cause he had thought her to be, quite the opposite in fact. Strong, confident, dangerous and intelligent, she was merely the result of an entire lifetime of being controlled. Enslaved. Tony had achieved his goal of understanding her, and now that he had, he felt remarkably content.

When he went to bed later on that day, Tony tested the ear pieces and experienced one of the best twelve hours of sleep he'd ever gotten.

_**A/N**__: I apologize for the absence of updates over the past two weeks. I re-wrote this chapter damn near four times. Not to mention real life constantly getting in the way. Thank you all so much for your continued support! I hope you liked this. Please don't forget to review. Remember, I need constructive criticism!_

_Also, for the sake of advertising, please go check out my one-shot featuring a BAMF Tony, The Dark Horse. I need a consensus on whether I should continue it or not. Once again, thank you all! Your reviews are what keeps me motivated._

_Steve next, in which there is a confrontation. Two chapters left!_


	5. Chapter 5

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter Five: Captain America**

Considering the seriousness of the injuries Clint had sustained during his mission, and the fact that the rest of the team had taken up temporary residence in Stark Tower, it was only a matter of time until Steve Rogers caught wind of the happenings. A very short matter of time, in fact. When Tony entered Clint's room upon the conclusion of his twelve hour acquaintance with the stranger known as 'sleep', he wasn't at all surprised to find the shield-wielding captain occupying the chair Natasha had apparently vacated. The unavoidable restrictions of being human must have finally caught up with her.

He wasn't even annoyed that yet another member of the misfit club, of which Tony held current membership, had shown up uninvited. At that point, it was expected, and he shrugged it off as was appropriate. He was relieved, however, to see that Clint had been taken off the ventilator but it seemed that wakefulness continued to elude him.

Steve wore jeans and a simple red t-shirt and looked absolutely troubled, almost angry, as he frowned at his unconscious subordinate. Leaning on the door frame, Tony took a long swig of his steaming coffee and observed him, his mind somewhere between being impressed at his casual choice of dress, which didn't include plaid, and hesitant curiosity regarding the deep scowl he was displaying.

"Afternoon, Cap. Long time, no see." He said with a small, friendly smile when Steve made no indication that he knew Tony was there. Steve didn't move and his expression did not soften at Tony's words. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was in trouble for something but had no idea what he could have done to upset a man he'd seen not hide nor hair of in months. Last he knew, they'd somewhat settled their differences after the invasion.

"Stark." was the short, cold reply.

Tony approached the other side of the bed and sat opposite the captain, noticing the slight tint of crescent darkness beneath his startlingly blue eyes. "Lighten up, Captain Melancholy, he's gonna be ok."

Breathing a deep sigh and running a hand down his face, Steve sat back in his chair but still did not look at Tony. "I know," he said, the depth of his frown decreasing only slightly. "But I can't help but feel like I should have been there... like I could have stopped it."

Tony rolled his eyes automatically and was immediately relieved that it went unnoticed. The self-sacrificing, righteous bullcrap the other man felt he needed to uphold annoyed the inventor to no conceivable end. "Oh, stop with your surviver's guilt nonsense. He's a damn SHEILD agent. It's his job to be the proverbial bullet cushion."

"I realize that," Steve said irritably, sustained, angry gaze now focused on Tony. "Fury needs to make a decision though. It's obvious he can't be Hawkeye when he's put out of commission as Agent Barton. He's playing two roles and it's not fair to him and it's not fair to the team."

Watching Steve thoughtfully, Tony noted his aggressive posture, the way his breathing sped up, the wrinkles creasing his nose as his brow furrowed in agitation... and the exhaustion he was attempting to conceal behind a rather rudimentary and unpracticed mask of anger. Tony happened to agree with him wholeheartedly. His logic was undeniably sound, however, he couldn't help but wonder if it was _this_ particular issue that was plaguing him so heavily or if some other monster loomed unseen in the shadows.

"For once, Cap, we agree on something." he said carefully, placing his now empty coffee mug on the bedside table and folding his arms across his chest. "Although, I think Fury's opinion is irrelevant. Barton's a grown ass man and completely capable of making his own decisions in life. He doesn't need two surrogate fathers feuding over whether he should go to public or private school."

Steve shot him a glare that by all rights should turn local villagers to stone. "This is a serious situation, Stark. Could you make your point in a less sarcastic manner?"

Highly amused with Steve's current level of agitation, which was slowly surpassing one hundred degrees on the temperament thermometer, Tony offered him a wide... sarcastic smile. "Hmm, no, I don't think so. It's imperative that I keep my sarcasm level just above 'abrasive'."

"Oh my God." the Soldier ground out, covering his eyes with his hand in frustration.

Tony shot him a mockingly abashed expression. "I thought this was about Clint. What does God have anything to do with it?"

Steve's mental acuity was blessedly sharp enough to recognize the subtle change of topic hidden within the snarky remark, and he seemed to calm himself significantly before removing his hand so he could see Tony, face neutral in comparison to what it had displayed previously. "Anyway," he stated pointedly, then paused as realization metaphorically smacked him upside his head. "...why is he _here_, by the way?" He gestured to Clint, countenance perplexed.

Grimacing inwardly, Tony frantically began combing his mind for excuses that didn't involve painful night terrors, but came up despairingly short. "Why wouldn't he be?" Stalling appeared to be his best defense, and he looked at Steve questioningly, but not too much so, for fear of giving himself away.

The resulting skeptical, accusatory glare made it apparent that Steve understood Tony was circumventing the question. "Because you and I both know SHEILD has exceptional medical facilities aboard the helicarrier. He couldn't have come here just for quality treatment." Sometimes Tony had difficulty remembering that the other man happened to be blessed with enhanced cognitive agility. In no way did it measure up to his own, of course, but assuming that Steve was a dumb brute was going to get him into deep shit if he didn't quickly adjust fire. Unfortunately, Tony had never been all that skilled at defusing any potentially hostile situation, preferring to perpetuate the other individual's discomfort until they either stormed off in a defeated rage or broke down into a sloppy puddle of tears. He really couldn't predict either of these scenarios occurring when his opponent happened to be America's only super Soldier.

Making sure to meet Steve's eyes, Tony presented what he hoped was a convincing mask of confusion. "Your guess is as good as mine, Cap. I think Natasha said the Tower had been closer at the time and given the grave extent of his injuries..." he let any further explanation fade into tacit understanding and provided a shrug for emphasis.

'_Note to self; get to Natasha before Rogers does.'_

Steve was becoming increasingly dubious. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Don't know," Tony replied indifferently with one eyebrow raised. "I happen to consider myself a very honest person, sometimes too honest, in fact, like one of those guys who actually verbalizes what everyone else in the room is quietly thinking. Brutal honesty is a good descrip-"

"Stark, just stop." Steve demanded quietly and the expression he wore gave Tony the unnerving feeling that he knew something the inventor didn't, so for once, he complied. Leaning forward in his seat, the Soldier looked as though he was gearing up to initiate an interrogation. "I don't believe you, because I know for a fact that Clint was deployed to conduct a very sensitive mission in Egypt involving the current civil unrest. At the approximate time he was shot, he was in Cairo. The hellicarrier was positioned just five miles north of Cairo. Much, _much_ closer than New York."

Tony's mouth fell open in astonishment. The heated way in which this information was presented and the threatening tone underlying Steve's words made him exponentially uncomfortable. "What the hell is this, Rogers? You're making me feel like I need to plead the fifth and demand a lawyer."

"Right now, a lawyer seems more trustworthy than you." Steve hissed. "Stop being selfish. I just want to know the status of my team. Not to mention this whole thing stinks to high heaven."

Scoffing indignantly, Tony felt his own temper flaring, uncontrollable and immense. "Spare me your righteous bullshit, Rogers! If you truly care about what's going on with Clint, feel free to ask him yourself when he wakes up. It's not my place to tell you. Secondly, for your information, while you've been hanging out in solitary for five months, your team has been suffering and I've been the only one willing to fucking deal with it." Standing now (when had that happened?) and jabbing an incriminating finger in Rogers' direction, Tony was snarling with animosity. He'd figured out the moment he'd met Steve that he had about a fifteen minute time tolerance for the man, and presently that limit was nearing its end. The satisfying way in which the Soldier's expression transformed from anger to shock and finally, hurt left Tony feeling accomplished. "I don't know what the hell you've been doing, but I do know that you definitely have not been fulfilling any of your alleged _team leader_ obligations. You haven't called us, or visited, or sent a damn letter. Shit, Rogers we don't even know where you live. So the next time you think about calling me selfish, take a fucking step back and re-evaluate yourself!"

It had been quite a while since Tony had been forced to leave a room for fear of attacking somebody, but Steve had this relentless quality about him that was capable of throwing the inventor right back into old bad habits. He'd stormed from the room, nearly blind with fury, the passion bubble surrounding the events of the past couple months finally rising to the surface and exploding to release a torrent of trepidation and outrage and general distress. He wanted to break things, the last image he had of Rogers sitting there looking so downtrodden and fucking pathetic as he stared into his lap in shame just so truly infuriating that Tony suddenly found himself pacing in front of his bar, wishing he had the capacity to wield Mijolnir. Instead he turned to his old friend Jack Single-Barrel, the rectangular bottle shaking as he poured his drink.

That day and long into the night, he drank incautiously, ignoring the occasional knock at his door while he laughed his ass off to _Three's Company_ and _Archer_. Finally he blacked out and couldn't remember any damn thing that happened after four in the morning.

oo00oo

It had been a couple decades since Tony last suffered from hangovers of any intensity. Releasing a loud groan, he shielded his eyes against the onslaught of sunlight pouring in and, in doing so, shifted his body just enough to send him crashing face first to the floor from atop the row of barstools which he had clearly found perfectly suitable to serve as a bed. He stayed there feeling horrible, ashamed of himself for sinking back down to the bottom of a bottle as a means of therapy, a demon he'd believed to be banished back to hell long ago.

Laying there on his stomach and lacking the energy to force his limbs to comply, Tony fought back wave after wave of nausea, head throbbing with an uncompromising migraine. "JARVIS, SITREP please." He said almost quietly enough to be considered a whisper. "Voice articulation at half volume. Skip the bullshit, stick to pertinent information."

"Sir, Miss Potts is en-route to Manilla, Philippines to meet with members of the Triumph Division." The AI replied as Tony maneuvered himself slowly into a kneeling position, residual effects of his inebriation threatening a violent upheaval of his stomach. "All Avengers are accounted for inside the tower. Agent Barton has regained consciousness and is doing well."

"Where's Rogers?" He asked, glowering down at the remnants of a shattered whiskey glass he didn't remember dropping before reaching up to grab the edge of the bar and pulling himself to his feet. The dizziness he experienced was staggering and he almost ended up back on the floor.

"Captain Rogers is currently sitting on the balcony to spare room 4704."

"Great. If he leaves let me know."

Tony dreaded speaking to Rogers. He held great conviction in the words that had exploded out of him the day prior, but the childish way in which he'd displayed his unease had been detrimental to what he was trying to achieve and he had to correct it. Driven by pure resolve and ignoring the hangover, he hastily showered, brushed his teeth and changed into clothes that didn't reek of spilt alcohol before departing his floor to find Steve.

Coming upon his room, Tony hesitated momentarily, his fist hovering just below the peephole of the door as he labored over how he would approach this. When he came up with nothing, he sighed and knocked anyway, deciding he would wing it like he did almost everything else.

"Come in." Steve's voice was distant, indicating that he was still be on the balcony.

Tony obliged and let himself in. The room was still immaculate, the bed completely untouched. Wondering if Steve had slept since he'd been there or if he just made his bed every morning with militaristic precision, Tony stepped out onto the balcony. There he found Steve, sitting cross legged on the ground with his back against the wall, a sketchbook open to a blank page in his lap. "Hey." Tony said.

Steve looked up at him and frowned. "Oh... Stark." he replied curtly, apparently expecting to see someone other than Tony, before turning back to gaze out over the city. The inventor scrutinized his hunched form for a moment before settling himself into one of the unused patio chairs.

"You know, I skipped making coffee to come talk to you."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Good Lord, Stark, do I feel honored." he said venomously.

Inwardly, Tony swore at himself. Man, did he ever have a way with sincere apologies. "Look, I'm gonna start this off by saying I actually don't appreciate when people I know refer to me by my last name. It's reserved for journalists and businessmen... and senators. You know, people I hate. So, 'Tony' is fine, I think."

Glancing at him quickly, Steve seemed wary of where Tony was going with this, but apparently recognized the lack of aggression in his voice. "Ok, _Tony_. What's your point?"

Squinting against the radiant sunshine, Tony turned his gaze on the city. "Point is, I um... maybe the way I spoke to you yesterday was just a little immature. I mean, the content was sound... but, I sort of lost my damn mind so I guess..." He gnawed the inside of his cheek when he hit a slight roadbump in his path of thought. He could feel Steve watching him expectantly.

"You know what, it's fine. You were right." Steve said finally and Tony nearly fell off his chair in astonishment. The soldier had focused his visual attention back on the sea of skyscrapers while Tony stared at him unashamedly. "You were absolutely right. I've been wrapped up in my own stuff and forgot I had a team to take care of." He chuckled mirthlessly. "My old NCOs are probably rolling in their graves right now."

Recovering from the shock of how easily the situation had diffused itself, Tony found his voice once more, clearing his throat and sitting forward. "Everything ok?"

Steve's face twitched just enough for Tony to take notice but he disregarded it. "I'm fine. Just having some trouble sleeping. Noisy neighbors." He said quietly and Tony sensed half truths contained within his words.

"You know, if you want you can stay here." he said, gesturing to the tower behind them. "Might as well, right? Everyone else is, basically on their own invitation. And ever since Happy's taken over security on Pepper's buisness trips, I haven't really gotten to take a swing at anyone for a while."

Steve looked up, any previous animosity he may have felt towards the inventor vacating his face and Tony grinned broadly at him. "A swing at me is like signing a death warrant." he said with a smile, and Tony snickered, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

"Only one way to find out. And all those sweet moves you utilize to completely decimate people's faces? Yeah, I'd like to learn 'em." Tony said with sincerity. Steve studied him a moment, still maintaining a genuine smile that wrinkled his eyes.

"I'll think about it." He said finally.

Standing, Tony yawned loudly and stretched. "Well while you're thinking about it, which I don't expect to see results from for a few months, I'm going to see what's for breakfast."

Steve stood as well, collecting his sketchbook and pencil, and held a hand out to Tony who gladly took it. "Thanks for the, uh... implied apology."

Grimacing, the inventor released his hand. "Yeah, I'm not all that good at those."

Steve laughed. "I can tell. Oh, and thanks for offering me a home. I think I'll take you up on that."

Flashing his trademark smirk, Tony proceeded back into Steve's room and headed to the door. "Great, we'll be one big, dysfuntional family."

Pleased with himself, and feeling increadibly famished and dehydrated, Tony left to pick through the contents of his kitchen, elated that the Avengers were no longer disassembled.

_**A/N**__: Let me know what you think. As always, thanks for all your reviews, follows and favorites. I appriciate your support more than you know._

_Also, I just noticed I have a tendancy to unwittingly use alot of military terms and acronyms in my writing, so if you need any clarification, feel free to ask._

_Up next, Tony has a problem. A big problem. Stay awesome!_


	6. Chapter 6

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter Six: Iron Man**

Clint proved himself to be one of the most insufferable patients Bruce had ever had the pleasure of treating, and Tony idolized the doctor's resilient temper more and more. Within the few days after he'd awoken, Hawkeye, never one to remain stationary for more than five minutes let alone the five weeks Bruce was prescribing, had already escaped the confines of his recovery room three times in total. He was so elusive and quick even JARVIS was having difficulty tracking his whereabouts and Natasha had been persuaded to hunt him down, as only she could, and return him to his bed quite literally kicking and screaming like a child.

Finding the whole thing highly amusing, Tony had disregarded Bruce's concerns multiple times, until one morning, when a loud squawking noise startled him from his tedious work on the Hulk tracking darts, and he whipped around to discover his feathered friend perched atop a book shelf, grinning madly at him. Clint had flapped his arms like wings and ignored Tony's furious protests as he'd ascended once more into the vent over head, whistling and laughing. Needless to say, Tony was far less amused after that.

Upon determining that the pain medication Clint was on wasn't expired, and that he was just acting like a lunatic because apparently it's what he enjoyed doing, Tony established a strict bird watching operation in which one team member was posted at his side at all times. Everybody was required to guard the rogue agent four hours daily and his insubordination decreased significantly, much to Bruce's great relief, although Clint continued to verbally crucify any and all present in his room. Tony understood his frustration to a degree, having never been particularly fond of being laid up in a hospital bed himself, but he also knew that Clint required aggressive treatment to combat the internal injuries he'd suffered, and Tony was pretty sure bedrest didn't include dropping out of the ventalation system and harassing himself and his staff.

Unfortunately, Clint wasn't the only member of the team who required consistent babysitting. Thor was engaged in a personal conflict with every piece of technology he came across, and on more than one occasion did he end up setting fire to various kitchen appliances. Natasha had already verbally threatened fifteen of his employees, and Tony was forced to deal with multiple resignations of key personnel. Steve had this insane ability to be up his ass whenever the inventor left his lab, questioning him about anything and everything and quickly becoming one of the most annoying people Tony had ever had the joy of meeting.

Daily life in Stark Tower was swiftly transforming into a torrent of reoccurring nuisances and parental admonishment and petulant disagreements. And it was driving Tony absolutely batshit crazy. It was almost like living with a really mean cat, one of those feral beasts you dread walking into a room and seeing because you know at some point the damn thing will jump at you and shred your ankles.

So he avoided them when he could, holing up in his lab or his penthouse, working and drinking respectively to alleviate the boundless anxiety his team unknowingly fostered, and leaving only to conduct his Hawk watch. And if they noticed his absence, they didn't speak about it, which in its own sense was almost hurtful. Perhaps this time, he'd taken one too many hardships upon himself, his penchant for being a beast of burden waning beneath the load.

But he had managed to fix some small things to the best of his ability. Clint no longer experienced hypnotism side effects due to the earpieces he'd fashioned, Bruce discontinued his worrying over the constant threat of the Other Guy and Steve and Thor were eternally grateful for a place to stay. It was satisfying to know he'd been able to make a difference... but the lasting consequences on his own sanity were troubling and becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Recently, Tony had been subjected to his own series of disturbing nightmares, the intensity of which established on the same level as the ones that plagued him when he'd returned home from Afghanistan. But this time, they didn't involve ruthless torture or dying physicians. Sometimes he relived being thrown out the window, Loki's power so terrifying to him that it continued to haunt him to this day. But the majority of the dreams involved entering that wormhole, his breath leaving his lungs with an all too familiar and exceedingly fucked up sensation of deja-vu, his eyes sliding shut as his heart ceased beating, body blanketed in unyielding cold. Sleeping alone only nurtured his distress, and having no one there to wake him left him leery of even attempting rest.

So when Tony found out that Pepper was returning early for a well deserved weekend holiday, he'd felt ecstatic, rushing through the tower to meet her. He could barely contain himself as she emerged, beautiful and strong and sophisticated from the black SUV Happy had parked in front of the tower, and ended up throwing image to the wind so he could run to her and pull her into a deep, loving kiss, disregarding the look of surprise she had shot him. He felt childish but it didn't matter, and he discounted the lightning striking around them as the paparrazzi collected on their rare opportunity. Nothing else mattered when he was with her.

"God, Pepper, I missed you so much." He breathed into her neck, the stress and loneliness and overall despair draining from him slowly as her arms encircled his torso and he melted into her embrace.

"I missed you too, Tony." She said slowly, and he could hear her concern. His heart ached at the thought of worrying her. "Are you ok?"

He inhaled deeply, finding the familiar scent of her favorite lotion comforting, and pulled away gently to smile at her. "I am now." he whispered and as he gazed into infinite blue orbs, he could suddenly feel the soothing caress of the ocean.

"Ok, you two, in the lobby." Happy's immense form appeared, making annoyed shooing gestures with his hands. "Go on. This is gonna turn into a security nightmare real quick."

"After you," Tony held the door for Pepper who beamed at him and strode confidently into the tower, the bustling employees all stopping to greet her politely. He followed with Happy in tow, allowing the door to slam shut and effectively silencing all the media's attempts at grabbing a sound bite from him. "So, are you free now?" he asked impatiently, catching up to her and waiting beside her as the elevator descended. Behind them, he heard Happy grumble something about '_lifelong friends not bothering to say hello'_ as he retreated into the main security office, no doubt prepared to harass the officers within.

Pepper rolled her eyes at him in general exasperation. "I'm about as free as a slave to industry could possibly be. I'm serious Tony, I don't know how you ever dealt with all this stress."

He shrugged, ignoring the incessant, niggling voice in the back of his head telling him to elaborate just how stressful his life had become recently. "Well, I seem to recall having this amazingly gorgeous and intelligent personal assistant willing to deal with most of it for me."

"Incredible; the more things change, the more they stay the same." She said, taking his hand and squeezing lovingly. He squeezed back, wanting nothing more than to lay in her arms for the remainder of eternity. The world could fend for itself.

"I'm serious though, are you free? I'm having this hankering for some wine and a movie and lots and lots of sex. Like, _a lot_ of sex. We should go straight upstairs, no detours, no... _encounters_ with anyone unsavory. Just you and me and the bed. In fact we should fly to Malibu, get away from all this chaos-" He stopped rambling when she placed a finger on his lips, her expression worried. The elevator dinged in front of them and opened, allowing them to step in. To his dismay, she selected the floor which happened to be where the kitchen was and consequently, where most of the Avengers hung out.

"What's going on with you, Tony?" She said, turning to address him with a questioning gaze as the elevator began to rise. "You don't call me for weeks, which I'm completely fine with, I know you're busy, but now I come home and you act all wierd and clingy. Also, I'm sorry but I have to get some real food in me. Sex can wait."

He sighed heavily and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry Pep, I should have called." His voice was quiet, and Pepper brought a hand up to cup his face and he leaned into her warm touch, closing his eyes, enjoying the rare sensation of being loved. Wanted.

"You didn't answer my question." She said, removing her hand and he opened his eyes to find her appraising him, a concerned frown forming. "And you look exhausted and pale... and why do you smell like liquor? Tony, it's nine in the morning."

He grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. "I uh... drank a little last night. You know, couldn't sleep. The usual." That was a shit faced lie, and he felt horrible for it. Truth was, he'd been drinking pretty much non-stop for almost two weeks now, resorting to his old and terribly unhealthy form of stress relief upon finding sobriety just too horrible to maintain any longer. He walked around with a water bottle filled with vodka for Christ's sake, an easy trick he'd perfected during his wild years. And Pepper, in all her observant supremacy, saw right through it.

"You're a terrible liar, Tony Stark." She said, shaking her head at him in disappointment. He immediately felt guilty. "I thought you were done drinking like that."

"I was." He was quick to defend himself, his head snapping up and his eyes meeting hers with sincerity. "I really was Pep, but I've been dealing with some, ah... shit lately. Some very unexpected visitors and problems that have sprung up, and, I don't know, I guess I sort of had a... _relapse_." He spat that last word, shifting his jaw around the offensive taste of it and hating the way it sounded. The very phrase indicated that he was some sort of alcoholic, something he had always vehemently denied, however true it probably was.

"Tony..." She whispered, and he despised her pained look, her deep concern, the way it creased her brow and marred her pretty face. Pepper was not supposed to worry about him and he hated himself for being such a torrential source of prolonged hardship in her life. "What happened?"

He watched the numbers above the elevator doors count down until they reached the desired floor, his scowl hiding the anxiety beneath. "I think you're about to find out." he said darkly, and before she could inquire into this enigmatic statement, the doors opened and a flood of noise descended upon them.

Thor was laughing boisterously at something on TV, a booming, obnoxious sound that made Tony's head pound and his ears scream. Steve was in the process of destroying yet another expensive kitchen appliance as he struggled almost comically with a technological wonder of a blender that was whirring and emitting a terrible screeching noise. Natasha had the television turned up so loud, Tony was positive the speakers would blow, an annoyed glower illustrating that she was fed up with the commotion around her as well. Clint was sprawled out on a couch arguing with Bruce about something indecipherable, and Banner himself looked just a little green in the face as he shouted back. It was as though the scene before them should have been accompanied by its very own theme music, like a frightening conglomeration of foreboding notes out of some horror movie.

This was what he had been avoiding, this waking nightmare of noise and anarchy and conflict which sent his mind right back into war, into that desperate scrambling and fearful apprehension as indirect fire rained down on the convoy. The whistling of Stark Tech as it landed beside him. The beeping it emitted right before the deafening explosion...

Whatever buzz he'd managed to accumulate from that morning's drink dissipated instantly, draining from him along with whatever color remained in his face. He felt Pepper bristle beside him and she grasped his hand in an attempt to calm what he could only assume was a very obnoxious display of resentment. "I think I understand why you started drinking again." She shouted beside him, her voice barely penetrating the cacophony around them. And Tony could no longer stand it.

"Quiet the fuck down!" He roared, but it seemed no one could hear him. So, mindlessly, he released Pepper's hand and walked forward, carried by nothing more than the automatic movements of his own two feet, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. Steve finally noticed him when he was right freaking next to the Soldier, but his relieved smile faded when Tony grabbed the screaming blender and chucked it as hard as he could towards the blaring television. Both objects shattered on impact, the fragments fluttering to the ground in a shimmering display of glass, plastic and whatever green goop Steve had been preparing to consume. The room was instantly silenced. All eyes were on him, wide and startled as he simmered in his anger.

"Tony!" he heard Pepper yell, obviously shocked, but he ignored it.

"Avengers, Pepper. Pepper, Avengers." He growled through gritted teeth, shooting each individual a look that promised death. "Make sure you all introduce yourselves."

And he stormed from the room and into his elevator, leaving a very embarrassed Pepper to smile awkwardly at everyone. Retreating upstairs to his bar, he swept an arm across it's surface to clear it of the empty bottles he'd collected, their glass bodies landing in pieces around him and poured himself a scotch, which he downed immediately. Minutes later he recognized the familiar sound of the elevator arriving and Pepper emerged, long legs gliding swiftly as she approached him, heels clicking hard and fast on the tile.

"What the hell was that?" She demanded, sounding completely irate, and Tony swiveled to face her, crooked smirk set in place.

"That, my dear Pepper, is what I've been dealing with for the last few weeks. Headache inducing, isn't it?" He took a long drink from his glass, the fire traveling down to his stomach oddly comforting.

"No, Tony," She stated loudly, eyes pericing him with an icy spear. "That tantrum. What was that about? Because, quite frankly, you just scared the living hell out of me." Suddenly she noticed the fragments of glass at his feet and her mouth fell open in horror. "Oh my God, how much _have_ you been drinking?"

He glanced down at the mess and winced. It looked bad. Really bad. There was at least twelve liquor bottles amongst the chaos and he vaguely wondered what his BAC looked like at the moment. "To be honest, I'm not even sure." He said genuinely.

Pepper stood there staring at him with unabashed incredulity and severe discomfort welled up inside him regardless of his oncoming inebriation. Languishing beneath her gaze, he finished the glass he held and abandoned the useless thing, resorting to just taking huge gulps right out of the bottle. She didn't protest. Tears collected in those entrancing cerulean orbs at the sight of him as shame settled deep in the pit of his stomach, and he tore his eyes from her, finding himself unworthy of viewing such a glorious creature. She was perfection incarnate and he was a beast.

Something beeped and JARVIS, in all his untimely splendor, alerted them to an approaching visitor. "Sir, Doctor Banner requests entry."

"No." Tony snapped, and downed a few huge gulps that were probably equivalent to his fifth glass of that moment. His eighth glass of that morning. God, was he disgusted with himself.

"Yes." Pepper countered, and he turned to her then, his brow furrowed in annoyance at her blatant disregard of his order. She glared back at him through the tears, her arms crossed over her chest. "JARVIS, let him in. Override procedure Papa, Oscar, Alpha, Echo."

"Request accepted." JARVIS said, and Tony couldn't help but feel betrayed by his creation as Bruce emerged from the elevator, looking haggard and perturbed.

"Tony, what the hell?" He inquired loudly, throwing his hands in the air, and something about the way he did so must have seemed comical to Tony, because he heard himself chuckle madly. Turning back to the bar, he ignored his swimming vision and began chugging even scotch, emptying the bottle and dropping it to the ground next to him. He grabbed a new bottle and as he lifted it to his lips, it was ripped from his hand before he could even get a taste, and he watched Bruce with obvious consternation as the doctor poured the gratifying and undeniably expensive amber contents down the drain. "No more, Stark. You're done."

Tony growled, furious with the doctor, his drunken state contorting all sensible thought processes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the realist was screaming at him, but the village idiot in him was currently louder, drowning out the cries with his own incoherent babble. "Just who the fuck do you think you are, Banner?" he snarled.

"I think I'm your friend, Tony!" Bruce shouted back, throwing the inventor utterly off guard. "That's who I think I am." He rounded the bar and went to stand next to Pepper, who was crying silently. The frightened expression she wore disturbed Tony and his heart sunk all the way down into his bowls where it belonged. Amongst the shit.

"Pepper," he uttered softly, walking towards her, but she clentched her eyes shut and turned her face away from him, holding out a shaking hand that made him stop dead in his tracks. Any pain he had experienced as a prisoner of war was nothing in comparison to this. Shit, even the shrapnel in his heart was envious of the emotional trauma the organ was undergoing.

"Tony, don't." and her voice was just barely a whisper as it broke and wavered. "I can't handle this right now. I just... I just can't." She looked up at Bruce, apparently finding the doctor much more appealing at the moment, and Tony couldn't blame her. "I'm leaving. I'm going to Malibu. I seriously need to relax, and it looks like I won't get to here."

Panicking, Tony tried to shake his intoxication but the effort was futile. He'd drank far too much way too fast and on a despairingly empty stomach. "Pep, don't. Please." he begged quietly, and he sounded remarkebly sober even though he knew better. No one could ever tell if he was drunk or not. It was an aspect he used to be proud of. "Please don't leave."

But she never even looked at him. "Take care of him Bruce." she requested before making a hasty retreat, not bothering to wait for a response. In an instant she was gone, and Tony fell to his knees as despair and shame and guilt and an absurd amount of anger crushed him flat. He knew how Pepper felt about his drinking. She tolerated it in small doses, even joining in sometimes, but she never got drunk. Having suffered through many years of his shameless bingeing, she knew exactly what it did to him, how it made him act and how he treated people when under the influence. Particularly her. He had, on some occasions, been down right horrible to her, even putting her life in danger, and when they started dating he had slowed down significantly at her appeal. And he had been happy to do so. He'd even felt better.

What had happened?

Who the fuck did _he_ think he was?

"Tony." Bruce's voice called him back to the present and he looked up to find the doctor squatting in front of him. The doctor was remarkably stoic now. Offering a hand, he nodded reassuringly. "Come with me."

Tony regarded the appendage as though it were poisonous. "Why?"

"Because you probably need to see a medical professional. And I happen to be one." he said kindly. There was something implied in Bruce's words that went beyond their superficial meaning. Tony assumed it had something to do with keeping the situation in house, and this he was grateful for. The Justice Department was already gunning for him after the incident at the Malibu mansion last year and any word of dangerous intoxication could be potentially disasterous and detrimental to his freedom. He was extremely lucky he wasn't rotting in prison already.

"Right." he relented and took Bruce's hand, and although the doctor lifted him slowly enough off the ground, the shadows still danced across his vision, a disturbing tribal choreaography and the helicopters claimed his hearing and he passed out, a sloppy drunken mess.

_**A/N**__: Don't kill me! I enjoy life!_

_So I decided to take elizabeth14's idea split this into two chapters to up the feels for Tony. Although he's been my main perspective for this story, he's admittedly gotten very little attention, and I think he needs some love._

_Anyway, the next chapter is complete, so the usual quid-pro-quo and all, you wonderful readers shall be my Clareces and I shall be your Dr. Lector. I'll bust the case wide open if you tell me how you liked or disliked this chapter._

_A few things: Foxbraken asked what an NCO is. 'NCO' is an acronym used in the ranks to describe all Sergeants. It stands for 'Non-Commisioned Officer'. These enlisted personnel are here to protect and lead the lower enlisted, the 'Privates', and to see them through tough times. Steve alludes to his NCOs when he felt like he was failing as a leader. Although Steve is considered a 'Commissioned Officer', therefore not 'enlisted', Army officers tend to heed the advice of the NCOs subordinate to them in regards to the welfare of their Soldiers. If the Officer isn't a conceited prick, that is. Ugh, don't get me started._

_Also, a Guest asked me a question about Natasha's chapter, that I quite honestly did not understand. Everything I write in_ _this story is, indeed, intentional. So if you see an inconsistency and care enough to point it out, please do so in the review, because I'm still confused as to what ellicited that question._

_So, once again, thank you all so, so much for your continued support! I'm incredibly grateful for all your thoughtful reviews and the favs/follows I've received. And I'm so excited to see that my story actually made it into a community! Go check out "JessEmryBlack's Collection of Absolutely Awesome Stories". 'Till next time. Please review!_


	7. Chapter 7

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter Seven: Iron Man Continued**

Tony could feel himself floundering in the abyss, conciousness existing just out of reach, fleeting and taunting and it was frustrating him to no end. He fucking hated sleep. Especially sleep he literally could not wake himself from no matter how frantically he struggled.

There was a rhythmic beeping. Familiar and irrepressible. And There were voices, and he wasn't quite sure exactly what was being discussed but he knew the conversation was about him when his deluded mind recognized that his name was being uttered multiple times. His eyelids were far too heavy to be mere skin...

He drifted again.

When he regained a small semblance of awareness once more, he was greeted anew by that moronic, useless beeping. This time, there were no voices. Again, he couldn't will his eyelids to move. Diving in and out of the teasing grasp of understanding, like a bird caught in a violent gale, was too difficult for his brain to process so he relinquished himself to unconsciousness, hopeful that the next time he came to, he would be capable of... something. Anything.

A nightmare. Pepper was upset with him and he had no idea why. She left him. If he had been weeping in his sleep, he wouldn't have been surprised.

'_Pepper, please...'_

When he felt it coming this time, he fought. He fought for a foothold in reality, for a mind able to comprehend basic thought and deliberation. The darkness threatened to take him once more, to own him, to smother him. But he fought it. _And what the fuck was that beeping sound?!_

Tony's eyes snapped open, and he instantly regretted the action, the bright lights overhead sending knives burrowing into his skull. An attempt at groaning was met with severe resistance and he gagged around something in his throat. Instinctively, he reached up to remove whatever it was, and found ribbed plastic and tape holding it in place. A ventilator. What the hell? Better not mess with that.

He swallowed violently around it, eyes watering with the effort of suppressing the normal bodily response as he took stock of the rest of him. Thankfully, he seemed completely unharmed. An IV pumped saline into his arm, and the ventilator was unbearable, but otherwise he was fine.

He spent a moment in miserable confusion. Obviously he was in a hospital, and he'd located the source of the beeping noise attempting to drive him into lunacy; a heart monitor beside his bed. But what had landed him there?

Then it hit him, the previous events becoming a macabre slideshow in his head and the sudden, shocked gasp he released made him choke, his esophagus rebelling against the foreign object. He coughed violently, eyes wide and streaming with the effort of relaxing his uncooperative throat. Just as he started to reach up once more, this time to pull the toturous thing out, consequences be damned, a face appeared above him, the man's glasses shimmering in the artificial light and his graying hair ruffled in characteristic certainty. He swiftly grabbed Tony's arm and forced it back down to his side and the inventor released a pained, frustrated moan between his strangled hacks, fixing his desperate, pleading eyes on his friend.

"Just relax, Tony. I'm gonna take it out." Bruce told him calmly, and started peeling away the tape from around Tony's mouth. Meanwhile, the inventor was almost positive there was no way he could relax, as panic set in, and the stupid tube hurt, and the arc reactor was shifting mercilessly in his chest, and he was coughing so violently he was sure he would damage ribs, and _goddammit, he couldn't catch his breath!_ He distantly heard Bruce say something about keeping his head back and opening his airway, so he did, and the unforgiving plastic was finally removed.

Sitting up and clutching his abdomen, Tony's body continued its vindictive punishment, attempting to force him to expel his heart, lungs, stomach and all other organic matter contained within his torso. At some point Bruce had snuck a mask over his mouth and nose, and the pure oxygen helped immensely. Finally, _finally_ his choking died down and he slumped back against the elevated bed, panting and absolutely extinguished, wiping the remaining tears away from his face. A groan broke through his parted lips and he turned to regard Bruce with intense disdain. "If you stick anything down my throat again, Banner, I'll kill you. Hulk be damned, I'll decapitate you with a big ass longsword." His throat was agonizingly raw and his voice sounded like he'd recently done vocals for a Rage Against the Machine concert. He tried to clear it, but it only increased his discomfort.

Bruce chuckled darkly as he washed his hands. "If only you knew exactly what kind of state you were in, you'd be thanking me right now." he said. Tony glowered at the ceiling, organizing his scattered thoughts, the act of which was entirely like piecing together a monstrous jigsaw puzzle the size of Big Ben.

"Yeah, you almost died, man. What did you say his BAC was, Banner?" The voice came out of nowhere and Tony nearly jumped out of his bed. His eyes shot over to his left to find Clint, seated comfortably on a table.

"Were you there this whole time?" Tony demanded, mouth hanging open beneath the oxygen mask in furious surprise.

Clint shrugged, grinning at him. "Of course. I happen to offer outstanding moral support."

Narrowing his eyes, Tony regarded the Hawk with skepticism. "How could you possibly support me morally, when I'm unaware of your presence, Barton?"

"Because, I'm always right... here." He poked the arc reactor with a smile and a wink and Tony emitted an indignant growl, hands flying up to grab Clint's arm, but the archer was already jumping outside his reach, knocking over a cart full of medications. The orange bottles scattered and rolled noisily around the room, and they both looked to Bruce, who wore a disapproving frown.

"Regardless of the dancing pill bottles, Tony, you have something you need to address." Bruce said, his tone severe, yet caring.

Tony nodded slowly in acknowledgment, biting his lip, sour gaze focused on the IV set deep in his vein. He was very much aware, now at least, that he had indeed suffered a horrific relapse. No matter how much he had avoided using such language in the past, he now had to identify the issue for what it was. Because that was the first step, wasn't it? Admitting you had a problem was both the first and hardest part, or some other such nonsensical bullshit.

'_My name's Tony, and I'm an alcoholic.'_ Was that right?

"Ugh, Jesus Christ." He grumbled in disgust, his hand coming up to shield his eyes from this horrific reality, from the machines with their haunting melodies, from Clint's prying, almost pitied gaze and Bruce's evident concern. "Fuck my life."

"Tony, I think it's important to tell you what happened." Bruce said quietly, all ire from Clint's mishap completely gone from his voice, and Tony lifted his hand to eye him wearily. "When we carried you up here, after you collapsed, your Blood Alcohol Content was registering at .38."

His blood froze in his veins. He was surprised the saline drip managed to penetrate the ice he knew had formed there. He could have died. By all rights, he _should_ have died. That much alcohol in anybody else's system would have been lethal. So what made his selfish ass so special, so privileged? Next to him, the air shifted as Clint settled solemnly into a chair, but he barely noticed it. Good lord, what had he done? Didn't Pepper already have enough to worry about with him being Iron Man? Now he was gracing her with the possibility of him drinking himself to death? What kind of cold-hearted bastard was he?

He didn't deserve someone like Pepper.

"We had to go through a series of extreme measures to bring you back." Bruce explained. "Have you been hospitalized over this before?"

Tony thought for a moment. "Yeah." He said, rubbing the itchy stubble on his face and neck. It was more out of anxiety than it was a desire for comfort. "Yeah, once before, like over a decade ago. Amsterdam, I think. A, uh... a buisness trip. There were so many hookers." Clint released a huffing snicker which he covered quickly with a cough. "BAC was .37. The doctor there told me I should've been dead. I donated a large sum of money to the staff to keep them quiet and went along my way."

Looking back, Tony realized he should have heeded that subtle warning from above, but he had been too stupid and so enveloped in his insufferable God complex, that he'd seen it then as acute invincibility. In his young, conceited mind, a near-death experience meant only that you had defeated death itself. He'd considered himself above the concept of dying. It wasn't until Afghanistan that he really understood that he wasn't nearly as untouchable as he believed himself to be.

Bruce was watching him as he leaned back against a counter. "You know, admitting you have a probelm-"

"-is the first step, blah, blah, blah. I know, ok? I'm working on it." He grumbled irritably. "I've been hearing the same shit for years now, from just about everyone I know."

Bruce smiled at him knowingly. "Well... that should be a pretty big hint for you. So what are you gonna to do about it?"

Tony shrugged dejectedly and gnawed the inside of his cheeks, feeling very much as though he was standing in a burning spotlight. No, in the sun itself. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Go to AA meetings in which he could rest assured that every single person there would know exactly who he was? Trash his million dollar liquor collection and renovate his penthouse to rid it of the bar? Go to rehab and disappear for a few months, basically halting all of Stark Industries' operations and projects, and watch from afar as his company burned to the ground?

Truthfully, his options were very limited. He could not risk the possibility of the American Government finding out anything about this. And he'd thought being forced to build weapons for terrorists was bad. He could only imagine in his worst nightmares the horrors that would befall him should he be arrested by the world's greatest superpower. They would not allow his sharp mind to go to waste, not when it was capable of producing some of the most debilitating weapons technology known to man. And currently, they were searching for any excuse to detain him.

"I don't know." He finally admitted, eyes low and expression hopeless. Extracting himself from beneath the blanket, he was relieved to find that they had spared what dignity he had left and not put him into one of those ridiculous gowns. He was quite comfortable in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Swinging his legs over the bed, he sat on its edge, vision vibrating suddenly and a strange ringing in the back of his head which told him that he'd moved just a little too quickly. The two other men in the room were watching him closely and Tony's eyes darted suspiciously between them. "What?" He snapped, "Stare at me much longer and I'll be forced to make you two pay full ticket price for this freak show."

"You know, I was actually in a freak show." Clint said simply, as though there was nothing wierd and creepy about it whatsoever, and Tony's fatigued, irritated gaze rested on the Hawk. "It's true. Anyway, I don't have all the answers, but I do know where you should probably start."

Now, Tony was not so annoyed. He was genuinely curious. Even Bruce removed his glasses to polish them impulsively, something that Tony noticed he did when he was either nervous or on the verge of an enormous breakthrough. "Hit me with it, then."

"Well, first you need to call Pepper and let her know what's going on with you." At Tony's extremely vivid wince, Clint put his hands up. "Now wait, let me explain. Calling her will put some very important things in her head. One: That you're not a pussy and you're not afraid of her anger."

"But I'm _terrified_ of her anger- ow!" Barton had grabbed the nearest moveable object, a tablet resting on his bedside table, and whacked Tony over the head with it. "You're an asshole." The inventor proclaimed, glaring at Clint and rubbing his scalp as Bruce snickered behind them.

Clint replaced the tablet and sat himself back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking accomplished. "I said 'let me explain'. Therefore, when you interrupt me, I have every right to fucking bop you. I'm trying to help here, and you're in no place to take it as anything less than the most important advice you'll ever receive in your life."

Oh, Tony wanted nothing more than to extract revenge from Clint's face, but he truly did want to hear what the man had to say. Anything was better than his own non-existent plan. He held his tongue and nodded at the Hawk who smiled gratefully back. It took a great physical effort to keep his mouth shut.

"Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, calling Pepper will show her that you're not a pussy... which I'm starting to question." Tony found it incredibly unfair that he was forced to maintain silence during this berating crap-fest, but he did anyway. "Second: Tell her you were on death's doorstep. It will show her that, regardless of her anger towards you, you continue to care enough to let her know that something messed up just happened. It fosters trust and communication skills."

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Tony watched Clint thoughtfully. The man was speaking the truth and he knew it. His logic was pin-point accurate. For not the first time, he wondered whether Clint's intelligence had been highly underappriciated. Or perhaps he hid it well.

"Third: Come clean with her." He continued. "She wants to know what's going on with you because she cares. Now don't do this over the damn phone, you need to be face to face. Tell her everything, every nasty secret, every painful experience, and she'll know that it takes a lot of courage. Women respect that. And honestly, if you want a relationship to last, that's just part of it. Trust is the most important part, and what better to trust each other with than your darkest secrets?

"And last, but not least, when it comes time to discuss solutions, ask her what she would like to see. Don't go rambling on, telling her what _you're_ gonna do to make it alright. Right now being a humble little shit is your best bet and you need to really listen, like really hard, when she talks. I know it's hard for you, but you need to do it. Women insert subtle little hints into nearly every sentence. You can learn far more by just shutting up and letting her talk than you ever would asking her questions."

Tony looked on with restrained awe as Clint finished speaking. The archer shrugged at him indifferently. "Do you read minds?" he whispered sarcastically. and Bruce burst out laughing.

Clint just smiled at him. "No, not quite. You gotta remember, ninety percent of my job description is just fancy language used to describe 'people watching'. I literally sit in high places and watch people, and sometimes kill them. After so many years of doing this again and again and again... you start to learn a bit about them. And guess what? They're all the same."

"You should write a book." Tony suggested, taking the ice chips Bruce had fetched for him with a thankful nod and removing his oxygen mask so he could shovel them into his mouth greedily. They were soothing as they slid down his raw throat.

Clint shrugged and Bruce walked over to stand next to the Hawk, looking very tall from where Tony sat. "He's absolutely right, you know." Bruce confirmed, bringing the subject back on point. "Out of everyone affected by this, Pepper got it the worst, Tony. She deserves an apology. And probably the Nobel Peace Prize."

He knew that better than anybody. What an unbearable prick he'd been, and Pepper was a damn saint for dealing with it all, supposedly under the guise of love. He would do whatever it took to earn her trust back, even if it meant removing his beloved bar, and accompanying liquor supply. It didn't matter what he had to sacrifice. _Nothing else mattered when he was with her._

He looked at his two team mates, his allies, his brothers-in-arms and realized then that despite their annoying tendencies (well, okay, Bruce not so much, but Clint. Definitely Clint) that they were much more than just the joes he fought along side of. They were companions and protectors and they all watched each other's backs.

"So... who knows about this?" Tony asked hesitantly. This was it, the defining moment that would tell him if the American Military would come storming into his tower tomorrow morning or not.

"Well, everyone knows there's something very wrong." Bruce elaborated. "I mean, Tony you threw a damn blender into a television. A very expensive television. And none of us are stupid. But as far as the drinking thing, no one is any the wiser, except for myself, Pepper and Clint. I knew you would want to keep this as far under wraps as possible."

Tony stuck a thumb out in Clint's direction and the archer shot him a cautionary look. "So why is Arrow Head in on it?"

"Because I owe you my life, you dumbass." Clint shot back. "What, did you really think after all you've done for me that I would turn this down? I don't want to be in your debt. It's embarrassing."

"You know what, just for that, I'm gonna keep you forever indebted to me. I will physically push Cap out of the way and save you myself, every time." Tony smirked at Barton's exaggerated eye roll.

"You know I had to help pump your nasty gut, right? Do you know how stomach-turning that is?"

Tony winced slightly at the thought. It was a low blow, considering how recently the events had occurred. "And I was wrist-deep in _yours_, so what's your point?" Snapping this had not been his intention, but the previous comment had made him edgy.

"Okay, guys, let's cool it down a few degrees." Bruce interjected, recognizing Tony's discomfort, and the inventor was thankful for it. Reading Tony like a book was something the doctor excelled at, and he'd been the direct result of many stifled arguments between him and Pepper which had never come to pass. "We all need to get along if we're gonna make this work."

Getting along... yeah. Wasn't getting along, or the lack thereof, what had landed him there in the first place? "I need to talk to the team." He said quietly. "The whole team." Bruce and Clint both turned quickly to stare at him, and then exchanged dubious glances with each other. Tony noticed immediately and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What?" He demanded. "Your poker faces are god-awful."

Bruce grimaced. "I don't think that's such a good idea right now."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well..." Bruce shifted uneasily before Tony's questioning glare. He was half tempted to slap the doctor for being so withdrawn, especially when it was causing him to withhold extremely pertinent information. Releasing a deep sigh, Bruce removed his glasses and began to polish them. Tony knew then that whatever it was, it was damn pressing. "Let's just say somebody who was present in the kitchen when you had your fit, didn't find it very desirable."

Sitting there confused, Tony just stared at his friend. "...Huh? Who?" But he already had a sneaking suspicion, and his features darkened.

Clint scoffed, jumping to his feet angrily and heading towards the window, where he positioned himself in the sill, his arms crossed. He looked angry as well, maybe more so than Tony. "Can we just address the enormous pink elephant in the room? I mean, the goddamn thing is _pink_. Kinda hard to ignore now."

"No wait, just let me take a shot at this." Tony spat sarcastically, "Does this person happen to sing the National Anthem in the shower?"

"You're burning hot there, boss." Clint replied, turning to stare out the window. Bruce also avoided his gaze, focusing instead on organizing a cart of supplies which had already been organized when Tony had first woken up.

The story was being kept intentionally vague and If they thought doing so was for Tony's benefit, they obviously didn't know him very well. Not knowing would drive him up a wall much faster than discovering the truth, no matter how gruesome or horrific that truth may be. "So what's he saying, exactly?"

"He wants you off the team, Tony." Clint replied without hesitation, and for the second time that day Tony's blood ran ice cold. Off the team? What the hell? He couldn't quite comprehend what he was hearing.

"You're kidding me, right?" Tony said loudly, an inappropriate chuckle of disbelief escaping him. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? How is it possible that the giant, unpredictable green bullet sponge gets a spot, but I'm at risk of being booted over one little incident?" He was standing now, ignoring the vertigo, hands flying through the air in his fury as he gestured wildly. "Hulk can take down the whole helicarrier, damn near kill two of our own, and he's good to go, but I throw one of _my_ appliances through one of _my_ fucking TVs and Rogers gets his patriotic undies in a bunch over it?" He noticed Bruce off in a corner, looking slightly downtrodden and Tony felt guilty for his outburst. "No offense, Dr. Banner, I'm just trying to make a point."

Bruce looked up and offered a half-smile so shallow it was almost a grimace. "No, I agree with you Tony. You made your point, and it was the same point I brought up when he gathered us together to talk about you." Tony wasn't sure whether to address how ridiculous it was that Steve had called some kind of fucked up traitorous meeting to gain support for his removal, or to thank Bruce for putting himself in the spotlight to spare him. But he found himself far too shocked and exhausted to do either, and he instead collapsed back onto the edge of the bed, head cradled in his hands and eyes fixed on the floor between his feet.

Clint nodded his confirmation of the story. "The only one who wasn't opposed to booting you was Thor."

This caused Tony to glance up at Clint, and it was all he could do to mask his hurt. "Thor?" he asked quietly, expression incredulous and the archer nodded.

"He wasn't for it at first, but Steve was able to bring him around to his side. It took a lot of convincing to do so."

Well that didn't make him feel at all better and he dropped his head down into his hands once more with a groan. His initial plan of action was to immediately boot both of them from the tower, and put the ungrateful bastards out on the street with the rest of the scum, but he pushed that thought away when he considered the fact that he didn't want to stoop to their level. Should he approach Rogers head-on? Would it finally show him that Tony was no coward? Because obviously, making the sacrifice play and saving millions of people in the process had not been nearly sufficient enough to gain the Captain's glorious approval. Did Tony even give a shit about what that man thought of him?

He did if he wanted to continue being an Avenger.

And Thor... really? It was all too much.

"Anyway," Bruce piped up, stirring Tony from his furious and saddening thoughts. "Now you can see why it wouldn't be such a great idea to come out with your alcoholism. Right now, it would just give Rogers more fodder to attack you with."

Tony sighed, and relinquished himself to his exhaustion, laying back on the hospital bed with his feet still planted firmly on the ground. "What a nightmare." he whispered. "Please don't tell me Fury's caught wind of this."

"Not yet," Clint assured him. "Luckily, we were able to postpone that."

"Luckily." Tony repeated, as he stared into the ceiling, dejection and betrayal resting heavily on his heart. He had no desire to discuss it further, quite terrified of even more disheartening revelations about his team. For once, his curiosity was adequately placated, and in the most dispiriting way possible. He wished a black hole would randomly form beneath him and suck him in, painlessly removing his entire existence from the world. It's not like he'd done much good for it anyway.

"Tony, I think this topic has damn near been beaten to death." Bruce said, echoing his thoughts. "I think it's time you called Pepper."

"Yeah." was his half hearted reply. Actually, he wasn't positive he could deal with that daunting task at the moment, his fragile composure having already been damaged enough. "I'll come up later, I think. I don't know." He didn't even really want to move, if he was honest with himself. He heard the door open as Clint and Bruce prepared to leave.

"Actually, your ass is staying right there." Bruce replied, and Tony lifted his head to find the doctor smiling at him warmly with Clint standing next to him looking placid. "Three days bed rest for you. No exceptions." His smile faded slightly, his concern just barely apparent. "Hang in there, Tony. I'll be back down with food shortly."

Clint also offered a small nod. "We're gonna be fighting for you out here." he said, and in an instant they were both gone, leaving Tony wishing for once that he'd never even asked.

_**A/N**__: Damn my ADD... See? This is what happens when you can't get your mind to stop spinning._

_Anyway, for obvious reasons, this is not the last chapter. Up next, Tony starts to put his life back together._

_Tanks to all the reviewers/followers/favorite...ers. Please don't forget to review this one._


	8. Chapter 8

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter Eight: Iron Man Continued**

His reflection was glaring at him from within the mirror. He glared back. It was being a judgmental prick. "You're an asshole." He told himself, and he was beyond angry, actually _beyond_ it, because he didn't necessarily feel anger any more, knowing it was there but not feeling it, as though the mechanism which made him angry was actually broken from overuse. "It's been two days. You have less than twelve hours to get your shit together, and you're sitting here staring at yourself like your pretty face will have all the answers."

It was sneering at him, _'You don't need answers, you idiot. You need solutions. Answers are just meaningless words. What you need to do is react.'_

"So tell me how!" He shouted, slamming his fist on the desk in front of him. Good lord, he was glad no one else was present in the room and that it was three AM, giving him confidence that the entire tower was dead to the world. Although it really wouldn't have mattered either way. His temporary home still happened to be the tower's infirmary which JARVIS had made inaccessible to anyone and everyone with the exception of Bruce and Clint. His two allies in this cold war. "Somebody, tell me how..." his voice faded out, his eyes closed slowly. He sighed.

Tony wasn't crazy... at least that's what he told himself. For nearly two straight days he'd been practicing how he was going to approach apologizing to Pepper, and the task was proving far more daunting than he'd first expected. He felt ridiculous, like a high school theater student reading his lines from some meaningless, long forgotten play. So far he had 'Hi, Pep'. He felt pathetic. And his own goddamn reflection was smacking him down like a tiny fly beneath a swatter.

Fuck Cap, his treason and his superiority complex. There were far more pressing matters to attend to.

"JARVIS, bring up Pepper's contact information." he mumbled. A translucent screen appeared before him, Pepper's smiling face among the numbers, letters and call records. Maybe if he stared at her for a little while, he'd have an epiphany. But nothing in his life was ever that easy.

What if he just improvised? He forced a mordent laugh at the thought. Seriously? _Improvise_? After all the botched press conferences, the subpoenas, his various failed testimonies? _Of course_, that reporter hadn't suggested he was a super hero. He'd put that out there all on his own. Bad things typically happened when Tony Stark was permitted to improvise. That's why he was no longer permitted to improvise and index cards, full of half-truths and flat out lies, dominated his life.

But the hands on the clock were ticking faster and faster, a disturbing auditory reminder of how swiftly he was running out of time before Pepper would be six miles above the earth, on to her next destination, on to pitch their products to the next interested customer. Dammit, Tony hated earnings season.

He had to think of something. Needed desperately to focus his thoughts, narrow them away from all the other fucking stresses in his life. The betrayal he felt. How troubling Thor's unexpected verdict was. How Rogers could go to Fury at any moment. He had basically proved Natasha's original evaluation of him undeniably correct... and he refused to be reduced to a mere consultant. Fury wouldn't be able to afford him, though. Tony's smile was almost painfully forced.

He gazed into haunting, accusatory green eyes. What a fool he was.

Staring at Pepper's picture was not fostering conducive insight in the slightest. He lifted a hand to crumple up the contact sheet, but hesitated when he noticed the absent signal symbol. She had turned her phone off.

His heart sunk. "She's still in Malibu, right?" he asked quietly unable to tear his wistful eyes away from her photo.

"Indeed, sir." JARVIS replied, and he felt a small amount of relief. "However, she is currently packing and if you wish to apologize, sir, I suggest you, as they say, 'nut up or shut up' very soon."

Tony scowled at the ceiling. "I'll shut _you_ up, JARVIS." he grumbled. But he knew his AI was right. He was being avoidant, his subconscious forcing him to stall as long as possible, hoping he would be able to dodge the conversation altogether with a mock snap of his fingers and a phony 'damn, she's gone, oh well. Guess I'll catch her next time.'

"No balls, sir." Tony smacked his forehead, and the smile that broke through his persistent melancholy was not at all artificial. Hearing _those_ particular words spoken in _that_ particular accent was more than hysterical.

"What would I do without you, J?" His gaze at the ceiling was now full of affection. JARVIS was his best friend, reliable, consistent, genuine and helpful. And goddamn funny. Not to mention, machines typically lacked the ability to turn against their creators. Three laws of robotics, and all that jibber jabber. "And have you been surfing social networking sites to 'study modern pop culture' again? Because I don't like who you become when you do that."

"I regret nothing, sir."

Tony took a moment to enjoy the banter, but his mind centralized itself back on the important circumstance at hand soon enough. He couldn't avoid this for much longer, unless he wished for his stomach to ravenously consume itself from the inside out. It felt like he had a hedgehog living inside him. A blue one, with big red shoes.

He sighed deeply. Far too many of those seemed to escape him nowadays. He wondered offhandedly how he wasn't yet sick with hyperoxia. "What do you think, J?" Not like he had come up with anything better.

There was a pause. "Sir, this seems to be just another one of those things you simply cannot plan for. You have no idea what Miss Potts will say to you and, although I can't believe I am promoting this, I think you should cease attempting to formulate your words into an algorithm and just call her." A robot was more attuned to the complexities of human emotions than he was - clearly.

He frowned. Nodded. Raised his hand to initiate a sequence that would force her phone to boot up but... faltered. Tony took a deep, steeling breath. "J, give me two way audio and visual communications." Pepper's contact information disappeared and was replaced by a blank screen. "Put me somewhere right beside her. And..." Another deep inhale. He held it. "Launch."

The screen burst to life. There was their bed, the one they shared... so many sleepless nights in which his only solace was holding her as she slept, occasionally brushing a lock of strawberry hair behind her ear, watching the rise and fall of her chest and allowing the movement to comfort him.

And she was there, back turned to him, hair pulled tight into a simple pony tail, wearing a luxurious gold and black house robe he'd gotten her for her birthday. The first one she hadn't spent alone in quite some time. Yeah, those 'plans' she always made for her birthdays? She later confessed to him that they were a lie. They'd been lonely together for years.

She had an array of casual business attire strewn out across the bed, and she was placing the clothes neatly on hangers and into a protective folding suitcase. And she looked absolutely stunning in her graceful dishevelment.

He truly loved her.

"Hey, Pep." He said, and it was almost a whisper, but the reaction it elicited from her made it seem like he'd yelled the words. She whirled around and screamed, nearly tumbling backwards into the pile of hangers and garments, but thankfully catching herself. Tony would have felt like a complete ass had she fallen over. He grinned sheepishly at her.

She just stared at him in shock for a few moments, before her expression lightened into reticent exasperation, masked by false neutrality. She righted herself and crossed her arms over her chest in that dainty way of which only she was capable. "Did your digital self really think it necessary to scare the crap out of me? I was having a relaxing evening, you know."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, noting how greasy it was, and leaned forward in his seat. Maybe he should have cleaned himself up a little before calling. "I'm sorry, Pepper." He said and she narrowed her eyes and cocked her head slightly to the side in curiosity. "I'm sorry, I mean, I _am_ sorry, for- for everything. For being an idiot and a fucking prick, and... Pep, I uh... I have a problem, like a big problem, you know, all those times you suggested I should just stop drinking completely, and I always made up a bunch of elaborate excuses for myself? Yeah, they were just that, excuses, words I could hide behind to- to justify it. And back then I didn't..."

He stopped, considered his words, clenched his eyes shut and rubbed his temple with a grimace. "I didn't have anything to lose back then. Nothing. I didn't care about anything or anybody. I didn't even care about myself." He glanced back up at her glowing screen, and was relieved to find a tiny trace of compassion in her eyes. Bolstered by it, he smiled at her. "But now I do have something- someone to give a shit about. To give _all_ the shits about. And it's not the Avengers, and it's not the Iron Man, or the press or Stark Industries. It's you, Pep. It's you, it's _always_ been you. And I just..." His voice wavered. He swallowed to clear the familiar sting in his throat. "I wish I'd realized it sooner. Before I hurt you."

She didn't say anything at first, just stood there, watching him, and his eyes darted around the room, around the screen, resting anywhere but on her. He didn't want her to see the tears brimming them, unbidden. He was a man, dammit.

"Tony." He sniffed, nodding acknowledgement but continuing to stare at the floor. "Tony, look at me." Wincing, but having never been able to deny Pepper anything, he complied, and the simple movement drove a single tear from where it had been welling in his eye, and he couldn't hide it before she noticed and _fuck, she'd seen it _and she was worried because he never, ever cried. His face burned with embarrassment as he wiped the rest away. Might as well, right? No hiding it any more. "Tony, did something else happen?" Her voice was soft. Elegant.

Tony watched her sit on his bed, _their_ bed, and she looked at him expectantly, concerned and questioning, but he hesitated, chewing his lip and drawing blood. Clint had told him to be truthful, to tell her that he'd fucked up royally and almost perished because of it, but now that the moment was here, he wasn't so sure any more. "It's... things have been better, I guess."

She glowered at him impatiently. "Don't dodge the question. You don't exactly have the standing to do so right now." Then, the annoyance melted from her features almost as quickly as it had appeared and she was worried again. Upset and troubled. "Tony, for God's sake, I love you, and I care about you and- and I care about what you're going through. And I want to help you through it, I really do..." Now her voice was cracking, a fracture which split his very heart in two painfully. Tears appeared and rolled down her cheeks, and it was like a switch was hit, like pure instinct kicked in at the sight of them, because Tony's own immediately dried up. Somebody had to be strong for the both of them. "But I can't do anything for you if you don't talk to me, Tony."

Wiping her eyes with the hem of her house robe, she collected herself remarkably fast. That was his Pepper. The embodiment of strength and sophistication, things he lacked dismally. They evened each other out pretty well, her with her perfection and him with his... issues. "Pepper, you gotta promise me you won't freak out." he said, fingers interlaced in his lap, head lowered, but eyes remaining on her. Her head shot up from where it had been resting in her hand and, oh my god, she looked horrified. Now though, he was stuck. He couldn't take it back.

"_Why?_" She asked quickly, sternly.

"Well..." _Just get it out, Tony. Stalling will only make it worse._ Her expression seemed to suggest the same. "Pep, you remember when we went to Amsterdam?"

She nodded slowly. "And there were at least a hundred nasty prostitutes hanging off you like monkeys?" She said, with only the slightest bit of animosity.

"Call girls," Tony grumbled and he couldn't help but grimace. It was a touchy subject, not only because of the prostitutes, but because of the way he had left her alone, standing in the middle of the red light district like a true dick, as two girls on either arm led him away to commit obscene acts. "But that's not what I'm getting at. Remember, that thing, the one thing that happened that we don't talk about at all?"

"Yeah..." The word was forced out slowly and her brow wrinkled in thought, and then it seemed to hit her. And it hit her hard. Her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Oh, Tony, you didn't." Disappointment was going to drown him one day, because he felt like he was swimming in it constantly.

He nodded dejectedly, "I did." He confirmed. Shame settled on him, its weight hunching him over. "Honey, my blood alcohol content was .39 when you left. In Amsterdam, it was .37. Just to give you an idea... you know." When she just stared at something on the floor, one hand covering her mouth, he shifted uncomfortably. "It was bad, but Bruce managed to bring me around, so... I'm ok now. And Barton, too. He helped. I'm _ok_, Pepper, I promise you."

Was he trying to convince Pepper of this, or himself? Uncertainty claimed him, and when she looked back up, composure set stubbornly in place (how the hell does she do that?) he averted his gaze, swallowing roughly. "I'm canceling this trip and you're coming here. We need to deal with this. _Now_." Her tone was firm and decided. He didn't stand a chance so he just nodded.

"I know, I know... but, give me a couple days." She looked at him like mushrooms had just sprouted up all over his face, and he was quick to provide an alibi. "Please. There's some things I need to take care of here." _Such as a traitorous Captain America._ His nose wrinkled at the thought. "Please, just trust me on this."

Skepticism glinted in her eye, and she frowned. Tony's heart was racing. There was nothing in this world he would rather not do than tell Pepper that Steve Rogers was being mean to him, like some kid tattling to his mother. And he knew she would jump on it like a lioness. So when she finally nodded her approval after much deliberation, Tony let out a long breath of relief. "But just so you're aware, I'm calling Bruce and I'm leaving him strict instructions. He is not to let you near a single drop of alcohol. And you're not to touch it, Tony. Please." Now she was pleading with him and really, how could he do anything but agree?

_My name's Tony, and I'm an alcoholic._

"I promise- no, I swear to you Pepper, I won't touch it." It was a sincere. He met her eyes and held the gaze, never faltering. And she smiled. She believed him.

Dear god, somebody on this planet still had faith in Tony Stark.

"I know." she said with absolute conviction. "It always takes a crisis, doesn't it? For you to pull yourself back up from the brink."

Tony smiled back at her. "I do my best work under the worst type of pressure. If I'm about to fall over the cliff, I'll just build wings and fly."

She laughed, and the sound warmed him, a true, saturating warmth. It was the best he'd felt in weeks. Suddenly, his problems seemed distant, a ghost that didn't necessarily haunt him, but stood back and lingered in the shadows. There, but no longer so frightening. His outlook was positive, and he felt powerful, and he would overcome this goliath with the strength of David plus an army. "I love you, Tony Stark." She said and It was all he needed to hear. "We're gonna beat this, and we're gonna do it together. You won't be alone this time."

He nodded and tried to project his gratitude out to her silently, because he was pretty sure if he tried to express it verbally he would just have a damn meltdown right there. Why would anyone even need to be strong when they had Pepper Potts to do it for them? "You're my fucking rock, Pep. You have no idea how much I need you."

Pepper rolled her eyes, "Oh, no trust me, I have _every_ idea of how much you need me. Have you started memorizing the other eight numbers yet?"

He lifted his eyes in faux concentration. "I've got, uh... three and seven."

"Fantastic," She gave him a mocking round of applause and grinned at him. "Now only six more to go. And then you'll have to put them all in order. I expect another year of processing for that alone."

"Don't you have some, ah, unpacking to do?"

"I do." She said, glancing back to her suitcase. "And don't _you_ have some sleeping to do?"

"Pepper, sleep is for the dead, we've been over this." he said, feigning annoyance. "And I am very much alive." He really had no desire to sleep whatsoever, having been trapped in that blasted infirmary room for days, not to mention the plans that were swiftly forming. If he had only a couple days to make amends with the Avengers, then he required every precious second of them. A red dawn was approaching and he needed to position his pieces on his metaphorical chess board.

She sighed and shrugged, as though Tony was an incurable impossibility. And Tony had to admit, he was. Just another thing on his to do list; stop being so resistant. The 'rebel with too many causes to count' thing was becoming tiring. "Just take care of yourself. For me."

"You got it." He said, and he hoped it was the truth but who knew? "I'll see you in a couple days."

"You'd better. I'm not afraid to whoop the asses of six super heroes." She said, raising an eyebrow pointedly, and cut the line with a smooth swipe of her fingers.

Tony collapsed back into his seat with a groan, laying an arm dramatically across his eyes. "Jesus, that was exhausting." He told no one in particular.

"You did a fine job, sir." JARVIS, his ever present confidant. "And you managed it without innuendo."

"Right?" He smiled, but he had zero energy to come up with something any more substantial than that one word. The conversation with Pepper had gone well, but despite the lack of strenuous physical exertion, it had been draining...

There was a knock at his door and he jumped, having stumbled into that initial state of limbo preceding sleep. "Tony?" It was Bruce. He sounded worried.

"Yeah, yeah." Tony called, stretching in his chair and yawning loudly. "I'm up. Unlock the door, J."

There was a click, and Bruce entered looking frazzled. "JARVIS wouldn't let me onto the ward. What were you doing in here?" He was glancing around the room, probably looking for empty bottles. It saddened him to see his friend's lack of confidence, but he understood to some degree.

Tony pushed aside the thought and shot him a proud smile. "Oh nothing, just completing the first step required to seize my life back." He said simply.

"...You talked to Pepper."

"Yeah."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "And?"

"And she finds me even hotter than before. And right as I was starting to think I couldn't get any more attractive." He said and smirked when Bruce rolled his eyes. "Did you do the thing?"

He removed his glasses and ran a tired hand down his face. "Most of it's gone, but we've still got a few hidden stashes to go through."

"Good." It was bittersweet, and he mourned for a moment. But only a moment. "Thank you."

Replacing his glasses, and taking a seat opposite Tony, Bruce smiled at him. "There's no need to thank me. Clint and I were more than happy to do it after everything you've done for us. For all of us."

All he could do was shrug dismissively because really, that's just how he was. He didn't do these things to get attention or to win the approval of others or even to boost his admittedly waning ego. No, he did it because he genuinely enjoyed helping others. A rewarding trait he'd picked up after a little tussle in the Middle East.

It was funny how people changed.

"How's the good captain?" Tony asked derisively. "Still out for my head?"

Bruce sighed heavily like he'd been carrying the weight of a thousand good captains. "Let's just say I'm glad your recovery's over. It's getting harder and harder to lie to him. He's starting to get suspicious about where you are, Tony, so my advice for you is to not actively avoid him after this."

Tony scoffed. "Steve Rogers and his tights don't scare me." He hesitated, almost afraid to ask his next question but gave into his curiosity all the same. It was going to kill him one day, Tony being the proverbial cat. "What about Thor?"

Bruce considered his question for a moment, his gaze resting somewhere behind Tony in thought. "Thor's reasons are more... personal. I guess he sees a lot of his younger self in you. You know about how he got here, right? How his father banished him here, took his powers from him, all that?"

Working the inside of his cheek, which was becoming painfully raw from all the bites it'd suffered recently, Tony nodded. "Yeah. Murdering Frost Giants, his questionable ruling abilities, his spat with dad over whose glorious ass would occupy the throne of Asgard. All that fantasy crap." He groaned and rubbed his forehead with his palms vigorously. "I'm glad I have wise old fucks to judge me at my low points."

"He just cares, thinks you should take a break and do some soul searching. How did he word it? Oh, and 'find your inner warrior, and your immortal grace'." Bruce chuckled, but the glare Tony shot him over the tips of his fingers silenced him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "And in a way, Steve cares too, but his solution is far reaching and quite permanent. His focus is more on the welfare of the team, not yours as an individual."

Tony sat back and crossed his arms. "Well, it would seem things are pretty much unchanged. Thor wants an honorable warrior of the seventh realm and Steve wants to dwell in ultimate douchbaggery. Sounds about right."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him in warning. "Tony, you need to be careful, okay? Don't go right off and antagonize Steve. He wants to talk to you and I suggest you not be a jackass to him regardless of what he's done. You _must_ be the bigger man in this and show him that you're above all this petulance."

"Oh, don't you worry, ye of little faith." Tony said with another lopsided smirk and Bruce frowned. He was frowning a lot lately. And mostly at him. "I'll talk to him. I'll talk to all you guys. _Again_. And since when have I been above petulance?"

That cautionary look was still there. Bruce had zero trust in Tony's plan and Tony simply exacerbated it by being vague. "What _exactly_ are you going to say?" He said this slowly, enunciating each word as though he thought Tony missing a single bit of it would leave him lost.

This time, when he smiled at Bruce, it was with sad acceptance. "You'll find out. Wouldn't want to spoil the newest episode of _Days of Our Lives_ for you."

Bruce shook his head. "Now you're just making jokes."

And Tony just kept that same sad smile. "It's either that or start crying."

Sometimes the drama in his life made him feel like he was staggering through a wasteland of cheesy soap operas.

_**A/N: **__Oh my god, please don't kill me! Such anger from all of you, I'm afraid for my life right now. Got me looking over my shoulder for knife wielding assassins and shit. It's ok though, I still love you. Anger seems to generate a lot of reviews and I'm thankful for them all! Even the flame, although I hope I satisfied you, deadpoolhulk. That required a ton of water to put out. Of course, there will be more explaining to come._

_Hmm, so I changed the title. Shamelessly stolen from Imagine Dragons' 'Radioactive'. They mentioned the song is about overcoming depression, but it can be applied to almost any type of personal obstacle. I own nothing, so don't sue me. I am not afraid to wield a JAG attorney with pride!_

_Anyway, the last chapter is next. And I swear to you it will be the last chapter! It was fun while it lasted but all good things must come to their inevitable end. Please review this one for me, because reasons. Ta, ta._


	9. Chapter 9

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter Nine: Iron Man... Almost Concluded**

**Warning**: Small trigger warning for tiny mention of child abuse. Seriously it's like a sentence, but just to be safe.

So Steve wanted to talk, huh? Fine, he would get his little talk, and Tony would adhere to Bruce's advice and not make a jackass out of himself, behave like a good little Soldier in Steve's tyrannical army. He'd sit down with him, go through the motions, submitting to Steve and his bullshit for the sake of theater because Tony hasn't had a real good chance to rehearse his acting recently. Depending on how Rogers approached him, depending on how much hostility poured from his mouth like molten lava, Tony would decide how much of the truth he'd get.

And maybe, if he wasn't so goddamn _late_, Tony would have been more pliable right off the bat. But he was quickly approaching his thirtieth minute of waiting, and patience was beginning to act as elusive as an acquitted murderer. He shouldn't have to deal with this crap.

Jumping up from one of the couches in the vacant Avengers common area, Tony was just about to storm out the door, when Steve finally entered. In his defense, he did look hurried, sweaty and he was panting like he'd just ran ten marathons, which was probably about what it took to make Steve Rogers sweat and pant. And when he approached Tony and noted his cold stare, he even had the grace to look apologetic. How much of this was Steve's _own_ elaborate attempt at theater was up for debate.

"Morning, Cap." Tony persuaded himself to smile, one of his practiced fake smiles he used on people like Justin Hammer. People he either hated or didn't trust. "You're only... a lot late."

Steve nodded, and put his hand out for a shake which Tony accepted begrudgingly. "My apologies, I had to run an errand across town. Last minute."

Tony hid his skepticism well, but his multitasking skills seemed to fail him at that moment, because the sarcastic "Uh huh." that escaped him was totally not intentional. Ok, maybe it was a _little_ intentional. He seated himself on a chair opposite the couch, and waved an inviting hand in front of him, indicating that Steve should sit as well. He did. There was awkward silence. "I can only guess what you would want to talk about. Secluded like this. In private." Tony said letting only a droplet of sarcasm fall from his words. He wasn't entirely sure how long he could last in the same room with a man who had been actively campaigning for his termination before he lost it and verbally decapitated him.

Steve had his elbows on his knees and was staring at Tony, to the point where it creeped him out a bit. Like he was dissecting him and picking through the layers that composed him, looking for clues or soft spots. Tony shifted uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny and scratched at his forearms, feeling exposed. Steve blinked. "What's going on with you?" he asked, and if Tony didn't know better, he would have almost been tricked into mistaking that disdain for concern.

He raised a single eyebrow and offered an innocent half-smile, maintaining eye contact, not willing to back down, to show weakness. "Oh, the usual. Being awesome, brilliant and successful is a full time job. So many demands and responsibilities. Being filthy rich is even worse, I mean, where do you _put_ all that money, am I right?" Tony was grinning at Steve, but Steve seemed unflappable in his composure. So much for not being a jackass.

"Tony," and the sound of his first name made him flinch subtly. He recalled telling Steve to call him that... because it was his _last_ name that was reserved for people he despised. And who despised _him_. Steve's tone had been soft and controlled. Calm. What was going on? "I'm not here to pretend I care about whatever's going on with you. I'm here to _actually_ care."

"You care about me?" Tony asked, regarding him with skepticism. "Aww, Cap you've made me the happiest gal at the ball." He scowled. His arms automatically crossed over his chest, over his arc reactor, protectively. Something he did instinctively when he was nervous or scared. It was his most vulnerable point.

But Steve didn't even bat an eyelash at his blatant intransigence. "Why did you freak out the other day?" He asked, and he still looked so damn calm.

Direct questions required direct answers, leaving almost zero room for Tony to wiggle. But wiggle, he would. "Well you'd already managed to break the blender, so I merely completed the task with far more... finality. It's an art form, you know. 'Artful Destruction'."

"You were angry." Was Steve's simple response to his lie, and Tony scoffed, like it was so obvious as to why he would be furious over his busted blender. Steve's composure was rock fucking solid today.

"Wouldn't _you_ be?" He asked, throwing his hands up. "You broke my blender. My _blender_. The same blender I make strawberry, banana and blueberry smoothies with. C'mon, can't a guy invite five superheroes into his home without having to worry about them breaking shit-" He stopped, realizing he'd almost given away too much, recalculated himself inwardly, and hoped Steve hadn't noticed. A slave to his own inertia, indeed. "That blender had sentimental value." He insisted, but it was weak.

And Steve was smiling almost sadly at him. He'd seen the crack in his armor for sure. Tony noticed he was squeezing his torso unconsciously, the arc reactor leaving a circular imprint in his arm. "So, why did you disappear after? Surely, you weren't mourning your broken blender for that long." Steve said, and suddenly, Tony had the distinct impression that he was under interrogation.

The thought made him nervous, and Tony, unable to stand the bite of those icy blue eyes any longer, was the one who finally broke their gaze. Son of a _bitch_, Steve wasn't supposed to win the alpha male staring contest. "Hey, there's five stages in the grieving process and they take a while to process. But I'm ok now, and the funeral was beautiful and graceful, in case you're curious."

He glanced back to Steve who had finally looked away to gaze out the window, still preserving that unnervingly calm exterior, still controlling his body language, making it impossible for Tony to get a more specified read on him. The only emotion he projected, and it was _extremely_ clandestine, so Tony wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, was sorrow. "You were drunk, weren't you?" he inquired quietly. It threw Tony completely off guard, rendering him momentarily speechless, and he was sure he resembled a fish out of water as his mouth opened and closed around words that wouldn't come.

There was no avoiding this question. In fact, it wasn't even really a question, feeling more like a trap in its essence. Like it didn't matter if he answered yes or no, because Steve was already aware of the truth. Steve continued to stare out the window, and Tony sat there, conspicuously silent, giving himself away more and more with every second that he didn't provide a reply. It was pointless to keep fighting, pointless to rebel much longer. "Yes."

This was the apocalypse. It would wipe him completely clean.

Steve sighed, rubbed his chin, repositioned himself and ran hands through his hair. He looked up at Tony. Now, he was agitated. "You know how I could tell?" Tony could only sit there with his blood freezing him from the inside out, feeling like he was eight years old again and waiting to hear what his punishment would be for skipping school. Tony noticed Steve's eyes were glossy, and he couldn't ignore the way his voice had wavered as he'd asked that question. He shook his head in response. "Because my father was an alcoholic."

_Oh_. For the first time in a very long time, Tony the Futurist had failed to predict the future and he let his surprise be known on his face. Not ridiculous or anything. Not like, mouth agape, drooling, so shocked he shit his pants, surprised. But his mouth was slightly open, and his eyebrows were threatening to fly away if he didn't bring them back down from his hairline soon. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it immediately. What could he say to something like that? This was really no situation in which to be witty or cute and a majority of the time, that was the type of crap that tumbled from Tony's mouth like word vomit. He wanted to say something like 'gee, mine too, small world.' but it was insensitive and cruel and if he needed to shut that shit away just once in his life, now would be the time.

"I guess we've misunderstood each other." He settled on this, and it was the right thing to say, apparently, because Steve turned to him, looking guilty but still smiling.

"I guess we have." He admitted. His eyes were bright and friendly. "Tony, I know you've heard rumors that I want you off the team."

God, could his heart pump any faster? He was seriously concerned that it would crack the arc reactor casing in it's desptrate attempts to dislodge itself and jump out of his throat. "They were a little more than rumors." Tony confirmed, voice icing over once more in his contempt, but it was not nearly as enthusiastic. What Steve had shared with him struck him on a personal level, and he knew it had taken a huge amount of courage.

Steve grimaced. "Yeah, I figured as much." He sighed and ran a hand through blond locks. "Well, honestly... I don't. I really don't." And Tony, once again, found himself in a state of speechless surprise. "I could tell you'd been drinking that day. Actually, I knew you'd been drinking for a while before that too. I could smell it on you, and you acted off and then you threw that stupid thing and it reminded me of my father so damn much that I kinda let my emotions take over, because- because I _cannot_ watch one of my friends go down that road. And I know how it affects people and the people around them because I was one of those kids." He was staring at the floor, head lowered in something resembling shame, although Tony couldn't imagine why, none of this was Steve's direct fault.

But Tony understood that feeling, having to watch his father spiral into a drunken sloppy mess, the whole time thinking that he was the one who had caused it. Like he was the reason his father needed to drink. Tony had dismissed that guilt long ago as something preposterous... but had Steve done the same? "I'm sorry." Tony said, and Steve slowly lifted his head to look at him. Tony smiled. "I acted like a jackass. I was completely out of control."

Steve swallowed heavily, and lowered his eyes to the floor once more. "No, I was. I let my old man get to me again. Been dead for decades, still coming back to haunt me." He sat back, avoiding Tony's eyes as though embarrassed. "I wasn't thinking of you, Tony, I wasn't even thinking of the team. I was thinking of me and only me. I was being selfish and I dismissed your problem and elevated my own above it, because I thought I couldn't deal with that again. I almost abandoned a good man and a friend because of my own insecurities." He buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Tony."

Even the great Captain America had his own set of issues. Tony marveled as he watched Steve, not with pity but with great respect. Super Soldier serum or not, he was ultimately human, and therefore, still flawed. And sometimes, when you're supposed to represent the epidimay of perfection, revealing defects willingly isn't so simple. Tony smiled. "Well the good news is, I'm working on it. Been clean three whole." Steve looked up and Tony raised a hand and splayed his fingers to repesent the number three. "Not a drop."

Steve nodded, and smiled, and was that _pride_ there? "I know." He said, and Tony could meet his eyes again because Steve was not so different from himself after all. Troubled childhoods, traumatic pasts, drunken fathers. They'd just been born in completely different eras and because of this held completely different moral standings. Steve was wonderfully old fashioned, and Tony was everything brash and ridiculous about the 21st century. "I've seen Bruce and Clint clearing out your liquor cabinets in the dead of night. That's when I changed my mind."

Tony winced. "Yeah, I refer to that as 'the thing' because it still bothers me that actual liquid gold is being poured down the sink systematically." The damn collection had literally been worth over a million freaking dollars. The things he did for love and commradrie.

"Well, you've already gotten a lot further than my dad ever did." Still smiling, still beaming with pride that was one hundred percent unmistakable now, Steve relaxed. And all Tony could do was sit there and bask in it. Mostly because, even though they had started out on the wrong foot _twice_ now, there was still something incredibly satisfying about impressing Captain America.

He would never tell a single living soul this, and would shank anyone who ever found out prison style, but the man sitting before him happened to be his childhood hero, an idolization conceived out of his father's obsessive recovery effort in the arctic. But as he'd grown up, became more mature, Tony began realizing how damaging his father's absence had been, how detrimental to a child's wellbeing it was to have a parent whose focus was not on his son's development but on the shifting seasons, the rate of global warming, the percentage of ice remaining as opposed to the year prior. And because of this, a bitterness for a man he'd never even met had developed.

And when he'd found out Steve was alive, and after the heated words they'd exchanged on the helicarrior, Tony's disdain only increased. Discovering that Captain America was a dick was gut wrenching after hearing countless stories of his heroism, bravery and, at times, naive, unbiased kindness. To think his father had pissed his life away searching for a man who passed judgement so swiftly was infuriating to say the least. Heartbreaking, to say the most.

Regardless of the way Tony had acted, the ignorant bullshit Rogers had spewed about him being selfish and only donning the suit to boost his ego had been uncalled for in every sense of the phrase. If only Steve had known that the Iron Man had been born out of a pressing necessity, a terrible, traumatizing situation. And not only had he used it to escape, but he'd perfected it to attempt to restore his honor, to right the wrongs his complacency had birthed, to _save lives._ Tony was a hero. He never pretended to be anything, let alone a goddamn superhero, because he didn't care what people thought of him. Steve should have read his file before throwing assumptions around like a weapon.

But hindsight was 20/20 and this was the present, and it was funny how first impressions could change so swiftly. Perhaps respect for one another was the final missing piece required to form a civilized relationship between them. Tony sighed and uncrossed his arms, no longer feeling so uncomfortable. "Shit, I've gotten a hell of a lot further than _my_ dad, even." he said without thinking, and Steve looked up quickly.

"Howard was a drunk?" He asked, but he wasn't stunned by it or anything. Once again, just confirming something he'd sort of already known. "I know he drank on his off time during the war, but I didn't think..." he trailed off and shifted his gaze somewhere around Tony's feet in thought.

"He drank a little, yeah. Actually, a lot." Tony said, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably. They sat in silence for a moment as understanding moved between them like an electrical current and finally, they were both fully on the same page. The one in which they forgave each other for all wrong doings, past, present and unknowing. "Steve, I'm sorry. I have a plan, and I'm gonna fix this. You won't have to deal with another alcoholic in your life." Tony paused, and thought for a moment, selecting words wisely. "No one should ever have to go through that once, let alone twice."

Steve's eyes were glimmering, no doubt due to the memories he was processing; a sloppy, raging drunk of a father. A caring but far too passive mother. Things Tony himself could recall all too clearly. "And I'm sorry, Tony. For everything. For judging you far too quickly when I first met you, and more recently when all this started happening. I was completely wrong about you. You're a good man. You're trying to fix your mistakes, and that alone is admirable, so I'm gonna do whatever I can to help you get through it. You have my word."

For the first time during this little meeting, counseling session, whatever the fuck it was, Tony allowed himself to smile genuinely. There was no more resentment towards the man who had unwittingly taken his father away from him. He was a futurist, and by definition, he didn't dwell on the past. He only moved forward. "Thanks, Cap. No hard feelings." He said.

Nodding in agreement, Steve stood and Tony followed suit. "No hard feelings." He repeated. They shook hands again and smiled warmly at each other. Past and future finally sorting out their differences and coming together to form a present. "So what's your plan?"

Tony shrugged. "Well I have a bunch of worried team mates to apologize to and then Pepper wants me in Malibu for a while. Little extended vacation away from all this." He sighed, and moved to gaze out the window and over the bustling city. It had started raining, the sky gray and gloomy. It rained far too often on the east coast. He needed to seek meteorological stability on the west. Or he just needed stability. "To be honest with ya, Cap, the team's kinda been running wild around here. Starting to making me regret my boundless hospitality."

There was silence. "I'll wrangle them." Steve said from behind him. "I guess we've all been disrespectful." Tony heard him approach and looked over to find him standing beside him, frowning as he watched pedestrians, small as insects, cross an intersection below. "The Avengers aren't exactly a team yet, but we're working on it. Getting us together so we could realize it was the first step."

Tony nodded, wondering how many more first steps needed to be taken. "As long as you don't incorporate awkward team building exercises into my daily schedule, I'll be right as rain."

"What about you?" Steve inquired, and Tony turned to raise an eyebrow at him in question. "How long do you plan on staying in Malibu? Because we can't exactly fix our team if we're minus one essential member."

_Essential_. Tony couldn't help but smile. Being essential to the ever lasting and perpetually destructive clockwork of war had been one thing. Being essential to the smooth operation of a multi-billion dollar industrial machine, something else. But being essential to a band of super heroes? Words couldn't express how good that felt. Maybe it really was possible for Tony to redeem himself. "I'm not sure. Depends on when Pepper releases me."

"Do you, uh..." Steve paused and Tony could see his jaw shift as he chewed his cheek while he took a second to contemplate his words. "Do you plan on going to rehab or anything?"

That was a hard one. Tony frowned darkly as he watched raindrops slither down the glass in translucent tendrils. Rehab was not an option he really wanted to consider. Having been seriously threatened with it before, he understood to a degree the inner workings of those centers, and the institutionalized nature of them did not appeal well to his sense of individual freedom. "That's not really an option for me. Anonymity would most likely not be preserved considering... it's _me_. The story of Tony Stark being admitted to rehab is the substance of the press' wet dreams and this getting out for the world to see-" He stopped, considered a scenario Steve might understand. "You know about drunk driving?"

Furrowing his brow in question, Steve tore his eyes from the window and rested them on Tony. "Sure." He said uncertainly.

"Well, replace the car with a billion dollar weapon of potential mass destruction and you have a national incident on your hands." His words were foreboding, dark, suggestive of something disastrous. He looked to Steve, his expression serious, fear and a little desperation glinting in his eyes. "There're already certain political figures who believe I should be permanently grounded, or even arrested, because of a... disagreement I had with Rhodey about a year ago. I got drunk, got stupid, suited up and basically put the better part of two hundred party guests' lives in jeopardy. Destroyed my house along with the public's trust." If Steve was horrified, he didn't show it. His face remained serious, but pretty neutral considering the subject matter being discussed. Tony sighed. "Anyway, if the press gets wind of me drinking heavily again, I'm done. I don't know in what way, but I know that they'll ruin me. I can't go to rehab, or AA or any of those other cliche organizations. I have to deal with it on my own."

Steve released a huffing, sardonic chuckle. "Being rich and famous ain't all it's cracked up to be." He commented.

Tony nodded. "It's really not." He said derisively.

A comfortable period passed in which neither of them spoke, just stood there together as friends and stared out the window, obscured by the water sliding down its panes. Tony was beginning to get a roaring headache, the first symptoms of withdrawl creeping up, threatening torture and fear. He'd forgotten how it felt. Maybe he should head out to Malibu a bit sooner than two days... before the _real_ shit started. "Is there anything I can do?" Steve asked, and Tony found friendship in his eyes.

He smiled. "Assemble the Avengers for me?" A chuckle suddenly escaped him. "Hah, 'Avengers, some assembly required. Batteries not included'." And Steve watched in confusion as he cracked himself up, laughing harder than he had in weeks and weeks.

_**A/N:** So the conclusion was becoming long, breaching 9000 words. Way too long for one chapter... my god, one of these days I'll stop lying to you guys, I promise._

_Next, Tony faces the team, hurt/comfort happens. The chapter is done, so if you guys could pretty, pretty please flood my inbox with reviews, I'll update fast._

_Couple questions I forgot to address from the last chapter (sorry, I love you, I do, but life and reasons) _

_Ghost Rider of the Aragon asked if Loki would make an appearance. Sorry to disappoint but no Loki for this one. I may incorporate Loki into a fic sometime, but I think a Loki chappie in this one would stand out as superfluous and add elements into it that would complicate it and turn it down a strange road. Sorry! I love every review you leave me though, you've seriously been one of my big ego boosters from like day one of this thing._

_Olympus97 asked about a different POV appearing. I'm sorry, but I think I'm gonna stick with my man Stark for this one. I'm not a big fan of switching POVs around. I have enough trouble keeping track of story elements already in place let alone adding in someone else's POV. Ugh, bad author is bad! *Smacks self*_

_Anyway, once again more reviews = faster update. That means you guys hiding amongst the safety of the follows section. Lets take this one out with a bang!_


	10. Chapter 10

**This is it, the Apocalypse**

**Chapter 10: Iron Man Concluded**

There they were. His team, his comrades, a dysfunctional family of sorts. They all looked so strange sitting there in the common area together casually as though they weren't comprised of a monster, a god, a super soldier and two humans of whom Tony still had doubts regarding their actual levels of humanity. A concoction of volatile ingredients thrown together, shaken up and poured out again to create something... not so volatile. Something assembled. It always took a crisis to pull themselves up from the brink. To pull together and fight.

Natasha was tucked comfortably into a love seat with Clint. Well, Natasha was sitting in the love seat, Clint was actually perched on the back of it, looking very much like the bird of his chosen namesake. He also looked healthy, the dark circles beneath his eyes, a recognizable scar from far too many sleepless nights, had faded slightly, and his complexion was recovering from it's persistent pallor. An educated assumption could be made that the anti-hypnotic ear pieces he'd slaved over were performing to every expected standard. Tony never asked him about it, and supposed that Clint's own silence was evidence of their effectiveness. No 'thank you' was required.

Consequently, Natasha seemed... well 'happy' wouldn't necessarily be the most accurate description of her. Just, content. Yes, content was more appropriate. And if the hand she was resting covertly on Clint's calf was any indication, things were going decent for her. For the both of them.

Bruce sat in a recliner, preferring to preserve his personal space for more than one obvious reason. He may have come to a sort of tense agreement with the monster living inside him, but he continued to practice various habitual mitigation techniques he'd adopted. And Tony truly believed that he couldn't find a single person on the face of the planet he respected more than Bruce Banner. For someone who'd been hunted, captured, experimented on, for a man whose name had been dragged through shit and pieced back together with scotch tape, Bruce was one of the kindest people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. It would be an honor to complete the Hulk-Off weapons for him. And for all he'd done for Tony, it was the least he could do to thank him.

Not to mention the fucking demi-god who possessed the ability to harness lightning because he was so powerful he'd actually made the weather itself his bitch. And it was funny, the way he sat amongst these comparatively normal individuals while sporting a pair of brightly colored sweatpants, a T-shirt and a smile, crossed-legged on the floor, like none of the aforementioned things were even remotely true of him. For a god, Thor was damn humble, and Tony contributed this to the fact that at one point in his exceedingly lengthy existence, Thor had been... not so humble. Banished to earth following a deadly rampage on a rival faction of otherworldly beings, Thor had learned the hard way what became of those who reacted to situations with immediate anger. But he'd corrected his mistakes by way of honorably defending Midgardians; those weaker than him. Loki, on the other hand, had attempted to conquer them, inserting a sharpened blade right into his brother's heart and nearly severing the ties which bound the royal family of Asgard together.

If Thor had ever suggested Tony take a break from the Avengers due to his increasing aggression and anger, he couldn't even be angry with him. In fact, Tony had no intention of even asking about it. Thor was living testament to what these emotions brought forth when combined with great power, and had been deeply hurt by it. His suggestion had been justified.

And then there was Steve. He was seated on the couch he'd sat on before and in the exact same spot, never one to stray too far from established routine. It had been a pleasant surprise to find out how much in common Tony had with him, and shockingly enough, Steve had been the one to provide him with the abiding drive he needed to get through what was to come. The others had as well, but the lasting affects of alcoholism ran too deep into Steve's very heart, and effected him far too personally for Tony to continue on like he's been doing. And if Tony could fix this, could come out on top of this terrible struggle, he predicted a great friendship forming between them. One of those cheesy ones about which poems are written and stories told. In a way, it could fill the void Howard Stark had left behind. In both Tony and Steve.

Tony appraised them all with a small, gracious smile. After so many weeks of Tony driving himself to the edge of the cliff in his attempts to support them, they were finally there to aid him in building the wings he required in order to fly. When Steve had commanded the Avengers to assemble for Tony's sake, there had been zero protest, and they'd all appeared as swiftly as possible, taking their seats and remaining steadfastly silent, focused on Tony with a rapt attention which was honestly quite heart warming. And Tony didn't feel in the least bit apprehensive about spilling his guts to the lot of them.

He sighed, took his own seat and laced his fingers together in his lap. "I guess this is the part where I come clean with all of you about where I've been and why." He started, and of all the people in the room, he looked to _Natasha_, and was shocked to discover a supportive smile followed by a nod of encouragement. He nodded back, bolstered, feeling bigger than the sun itself. "Three days ago, when I had my little... whatever, I'd been drinking. More accurately, I was pretty damn drunk. And just like my father, the shit affects the way I act. Now, I'm not making excuses for myself or anything but had I _not_ been drinking, I wouldn't have reacted that way, not to mention you guys were trashing this room, and being fucking loud and obnoxious-" When he looked up again, he realized there were more than a few raised eye brows and shifted slightly in uncomfortable embarrassment. This was why he was not permitted to improvise.

"Anyway, after that, I went back upstairs and drank more, and more, _and more_ until I got sloppy and stupid and eventually passed out. And these last few days when I was gone, and Bruce was covering for me and telling you I was in the lab? Yeah, I was actually recovering from alcohol poisoning. I nearly died. I could've gone into a coma, it was so bad."

This revelation earned him varied reactions. Steve looked horrified, having not known anything at all about it. Natasha raised her eyebrows and let her lips part only slightly in surprise. Thor seemed confused beyond hope and Bruce and Clint avoided eye contact with all of them.

"Why wasn't I told about this?" Steve demanded, having shifted from horror to fury so fast it was almost comical to watch, and resting his accusing gaze on Bruce who just shook his head and hid his eyes with one hand.

Tony raised an eyebrow and nodded at Steve pointedly in warning. "Because, at the time you were gunning for my indefinite removal, Cap. And an incident like that isn't exactly something I'd want to share with you while my head's sitting on the damn chopping block." His tone was not aggressive, merely informative. Calm. Steve pursed his lips, but remained silent after that, relaxing his contentious posture and sitting back. Tony glanced around at the others, searching for any more potential protestations, but thankfully finding nothing but concern. Although, it was only a matter of time before Thor gave into his curiosity, which seemed to be bordering on unbearable.

Tony took a deep, steadying breath. "So before all this, about a month or so ago actually, I started drinking heavily again. And when I say heavily I mean three or four glasses of scotch instead of orange juice with my bacon and eggs in the morning and then just continuously throughout the day. Basically, I was perpetually drunk."

"How is that possible?" Clint challenged, his brow furrowed, not in doubt, but in question. "None of us could even tell."

"_I_ could." Steve chimed in proudly, but lowered his eyes awkwardly when Natasha shot him a glare, clearly warning him that all other inappropriate retorts would be dealt with severely.

Tony regarded Clint with a neutral expression. "I'm what's known as a 'functional drunk', meaning I could be absolutely smashed beyond hope and still appear to operate normally. I still slur a little, but otherwise there's really very few outward indicators that I'm intoxicated." He explained. "I've been drinking so hard for so long that the side affects of it have become something like an acquired second nature. Less of a side affect, and more just part of the normal me." Clint looked surprised and nodded thoughtfully.

"I do not understand." Thor began, forehead creased in genuine confusion, and Tony braced himself for the difficult and frustrating attempts at explanation soon to come. "What is this hinderance of which you speak? What does this all mean?"

"It means he drinks too much, big guy." Clint provided, sliding down to sit next to Natasha, but this only confused him more.

"Impossible, no such thing exists." And although there was insistence in his words, there was also hesitance, as if he wasn't entirely confident in the accuracy of his own statement. But Tony wasn't annoyed, he knew Asgardians didn't face the same physical limitations as their human underlings, and the concept of alcohol actually killing someone was probably inconceivable to him. The shit flowed like water in Asgard and was probably consumed with the same perceived necessity.

"My body isn't built like yours." Tony said patiently, and hoped his explanation would prove sufficient. "Too much of that stuff at one time will kill me. Too much of it over an extended period of time will destroy me slowly from the inside out. The shit is poison to us. Makes us do things we regret. Reaches in and pulls out a demon and teaches it to walk and talk like we do, and before we know it, we're hurting people." And suddenly, Tony found himself agreeing with every word he'd just spat. There was no more denial, no more hiding, no more excuses. Just the cold hard facts. The truth of what he's been doing to himself laid bare for them all to see. For _Tony_ to see. He looked away from them, swallowing the burning lump in his throat, feeling it hit his belly like a hot coal.

There was a small period of silence, and when he collected himself and looked back up he was satisfied to see that Thor seemed to finally understand. His confusion was replaced with worry, an appropriate emotion for the situation, and he stifled any other questions that may have been prodding him.

"Tony, why did you start drinking like this again?" Natasha inquired quietly, and Tony had known this question would arise but had not even prepared an answer for it.

He shrugged and offered them all a sad half smile. "I'm not sure _exactly_ why, I mean, anything could have triggered it, and I've been trying to convince myself that it... that it was the stress of all you guys moving in." Now he was nervous, and his hands shook subtly. He swallowed. "But, when I take a second to step back and think about it, I- I think it might have something to do with, um... almost... almost not making it back. You know, after the thing. Here." He pointed over head to where the sky had opened up and nearly swallowed him whole. He was sweating now, the thought of that portal, of the cold grasp of what could only be impending death, of Pepper's face vanishing from the HUD of his helmet like she'd never existed, sending his heart into a panic. He shook his head and he knew they'd seen it, the terror that had flashed momentarily across his face, because when he looked at them again they were as still as death itself. As still as the vacuum of space.

It made him edgy.

He wrung his hands together, hating their scrutiny while at the same time, feeling honored that they deemed him worthy of any scrutiny at all. "Tony?" Bruce was watching him, not displaying his worry, but reflecting it just enough in his voice to snap Tony from his thoughts. Tony shook his head in acknowledgement. Bruce had always been good at that.

"Right, so I think to sum this all up, I'll just come right out and say it." He paused, looking around at them, silently willing them to be mature about this, not not crack jokes, to keep any goddamn useless, unhelpful comments to themselves, because what he was about to say to them, he had _never_ said to anther soul, living or dead. And he needed nothing more than to be able to trust them at that moment. "Truth is, I'm an alcoholic." And he was relieved to find acceptance among his friends. He wasn't sure if it was out of respect, or if it was due Natasha's threatening presence, but they remained silent, allowing him to digest his own words because it seemed like they had known all along something that he himself had just figured out.

Tony was glad they had suspended their questioning of him. He was pretty sure if he even opened his mouth, nothing more than a sob of relieved gratitude would escape him. The grace of the individuals before him, in what could be considered one of his most vulnerable and revealing moments, was absolutely staggering to behold. They were all smiling at him, looked fucking _proud_ of him, and it was a strange feeling because he'd never really experienced being the object of someone else's pride before. Well, besides Pepper's, but that was ingrained within her job description, so it didn't really count.

But _these_ people...

Apparently, it wasn't the mistake that made the man, it was how he overcame it. And _apparently_, Tony was doing a damn fine job so far. He stopped wringing his hands, calmed his fearful quivering to an acceptable level, although jitters due to the approaching withdrawal that was soon to manifest itself in the worst way persisted, and he relaxed a bit.

"Do you have a plan?" Natasha inquired, gazing at him curiously.

Tony willed his composure to withstand the awesome amount of unfamiliar feelings bombarding it, and once again swallowed the sting in his throat down before it burst forth and shamed him. "Yeah. I mean, I think so. Clint and Bruce were nice enough to destroy the booze I have here, and I'm positive Pepper is in the process of doing the same in Malibu, because that's where I'm heading next for a while. You know, to step back and reevaluate myself." His glance at Steve, located recognition of the phrase. They smiled at each other in tacit understanding. "The hard reality of this shit is that I _cannot_ ever touch another drop of alcohol." He said, trying desperately to project the enormity of this fact to them and how dire it was that he adhere to his own prescription. "Which brings me to my next point. Or request, I guess. I'm gonna need a lot of help with this, so- so I'm asking- no, _begging_ you all, please keep it out of the tower." It was his tower, of course. He could, by all rights, instill a strict drinking ban on the premises, but asking nicely tended to yield better results than obtaining goals by force. "If I see it, I'll drink it, it's that simple. And after this, I won't hesitate to walk right up to any one of you and rip it right out of your fucking hands. At least for right now and for the foreseeable, short term future. I'm sorry, guys, I just- I don't have-" What, because he didn't have the willpower? The goddamn _self control?_ He stopped, groaned, buried his face in his hands. He couldn't look at them. What he was asking of them was selfish and stupid and-

Someone had placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to find Natasha there, sporting the most supportive smile she was probably capable of. "You're not asking too much." She said, and _goddamn_, it was like she'd watched his thoughts scroll through his head as one does captions on a television. "We're all gonna help you. _Arn't we?_" She demanded as she scanned the other occupants with a death glare, daring them to oppose her. Had Tony been on the receiving end of that look, he would've ran.

Steve stood up, squaring his shoulders, and radiating authority. "No need for coercion, Natasha. I'm instituting a strict no drinking policy for the entire team, effective immediately." What an incredible little family Tony had become a part of. He felt that stinging behind his eyes, like a scorpion had taken up residence there, and blinked rapidly against it. _Fucking Christ on a crutch_, when the hell had he become so emotional? "And this conversation never leaves this room." Steve continued, stern and fierce. "It doesn't go to the press, it doesn't go to Asgard it doesn't go to Fury and it's not to be mentioned in casual conversation with some random SHIELD agent." He shot Clint a pointed glare, who threw his hands up indignantly, like he was insulted that Steve would even dream of singling him out as a possible leaker.

"If it shall aid Friend Stark in defeating this foe, even I shall limit my drink to only within the halls of Asgard!" Thor proclaimed loudly, smiling and clapping one of his dinner-plate-sized hands down on the shoulder opposite the one of which Natasha claimed temporary ownership, jerking Tony's whole body, and making him grunt. "It is only right that we repay our debts to him with honor and benevolence."

Tony couldn't speak. Couldn't even will his mouth to open to formulate a 'thank you', because he may have been less than confident that a sob wouldn't escape instead. They were all looking at him, and _fuck_, they needed to stop before he _freaked out_. Natasha in all her generous (but admittedly infrequent) mercy, noticed his nearly invisible tremors and set about creating a distraction in the form of barking orders at the others. "Barton, is there any alcohol left?"

"One cabinet, I think." Was the quick reply.

"Destroy it. Thor, go with him." She commanded firmly. Tony couldn't see the reaction, because he was staring at the floor between his feet, but he heard shuffling steps and the elevator door dinging closed. Natasha's hand was still warm on his shoulder.

"Pepper's aware?"

He could visualize Bruce removing his glasses and cleaning them in his anxiety. "Yeah, I actually got a call from her today about it."

"Good. Go call her back. Find out if she's gotten rid of it yet." Shit, the tears were threatening an epic return. They were doing too much for him, _caring too much_! And he didn't deserve it, he'd spent his younger years being told he didn't deserve it, his adult years, telling _himself_ the same. So much affection from so many people all at once was overwhelming.

"Tony, you wanted to go to Malibu, right?" And there she went, reading his fucking thoughts again like some kind of living, breathing polygraph machine. He felt helpless. All he could do was nod. "When?"

He clenched his fists in his lap. Why couldn't she have just continued asking questions that didn't require a verbal response? He swallowed hard. Gritted his teeth. "Two days." And he'd be damned if his original conjecture regarding his fragile emotions hadn't been accurate because his voice wavered and cracked like he was going through puberty. Someone had rigged the flood gates with dynamite. And that bastard was about to blow them wide open.

Thankfully, Steve was been given some task Tony didn't exactly get the opportunity to hear about, and he was running off just as the first tears spilled over, followed by more, like a broken water main, they spilled from him, until sobs wracked his body. Truth was, he'd needed it, the stress of everything he'd been through pouring out of him, his sorrow embodied in those god forsaken tears.

Natasha rapidly transitioned from merely touching his shoulder, to rubbing small circles into his back, to crouching down beside him and now she had her arms wrapped around him. And his pathetic ass was leaning into her, making a mess of himself, and probably soaking her shirt through. But she didn't seem to mind, or at least tolerated it for his benefit, and continued rubbing small circles into his back, not saying a word, just physically being there for him and genuinely caring. It was a good ten minutes before his sobs were reduced to quiet sniffles and he was able to pull gently away from her, ashamed, not wanting to see anyone or anything. She stood, walked around, squatted down in front of him so she wasn't looming like some sexy grim reaper, and lifted his head with a single finger beneath his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

He could only imagine how terrible he looked.

"Feel better?" She asked, removing her finger and smiling that odd smile that looked so strange when coming from her.

"Yeah." And it came out as a throaty croak, and he felt ridiculous, but it was a truthful answer. People had always told him - _people_ being Pepper - that it was better to let it out than to bottle it up and ferment it. His father had stated something a little different. He wiped his face on one of his sleeves. "Loads, actually." He was already starting to sound better. And his mind was surprisingly clearer.

"You're going to Malibu, then what?" He didn't know whether she just wanted to keep him talking, hoping to avoid another awkward breakdown, or if she was legitimately curious. But considering what she'd just done for him, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm not sure." He said with a sniff. "I think Pepper has some kind of house arrest thing planned for me, but... I guess I'll collect the scattered pieces of my life and start putting them back together. Hopefully when I'm done, it'll resemble something... stable. Right now, it kinda looks like a Jenga tower."

She settled herself on the ground, and he couldn't help but notice the way her legs moved as she crossed them. Like a spider's, long and seemingly delicate. It would have been creepy had he not known her. "I have a suggestion." She said, leaning forward and placing her elbows on her knees. "Go to Malibu, catch your breath and focus on _you_. You've been so wrapped up in fixing _our_ problems, in trying to take the weight of the whole _world's_ problems on your shoulders, that you had zero strength left to hold up your own. And you collapsed beneath it all." She cocked her head, studying him, and he held her gaze, completely focused on what she had to say. Moments like this from Natasha were virtually non-existent, like meeting Bigfoot in person, and every second was precious. "You can't make the world perfect, Tony. I know you want to, but you just can't. Sometimes, you have to take a step back from it, and rescue yourself. And right now, you could use a bit of rescueing."

He nodded, tore his eyes from her blue ones, wrapped his arms around his chest, although he wasn't feeling threatened. Just nervous. "I know." He said in barely a whisper. "I'm sorry."

She was shaking her head. "Don't apologize. Fix it." And at first, the solution was too simplistic to even seem conceivable, but then, when he thought about it, fixing the issue was the best form of sincere apology he could offer them. 'Sorry' was just a word. Meaningless without the actions to back it up. "And if you need help, _ask_. You can't do this alone, Tony, no matter how much you desperately want to. And lucky for you, you have lots of friends who are willing to help."

And _that_ was the answer. Her words contained both the question and the solution. And he truly believed he could never properly thank her, thank _all_ of them, for what they'd done for him that day. They were willing to change their very lifestyles if it meant assisting their friend in remedying his problem. They were his true family. His supposed 'blood family' had offered him his first drink at the age of four.

As Natasha left, after smiling at him and ruffling his hair affectionately, an action that would have rendered any other person an instant amputee, he sat back and contemplated his lot in life. How he could just stop apologizing and fix himself. He would go to Malibu for a couple weeks, spend time with Pepper, focus on himself, and return a better man, a better hero and a better team mate. A sober Iron Man. He stumbled over to the couch and let himself fall forward gracelessly onto its welcoming cushiness. Right before he nodded off, the crippling exhaustion resulting from expelling so much mental anguish too much to bear any longer, he smiled. He was home.

The apocalypse had happened, destroying his protective barriers, and exposing the wasteland beneath. A scorched earth. A new beginning, for brand new life.

oo00oo

Leg bouncing in fearful anticipation, Tony watched trees fly past the tinted window of the SUV, panic rising within him, threatening enslavement of his mind. But he had been working on this, hadn't he? Breathing techniques; in, out, in, out, and he felt ridiculous, like a pregnant woman in fucking birthing class, when he did it. But it _did_ help. He begrudgingly admitted that it did help.

"You good, boss?" Happy asked from the drivers seat, peering at Tony from over his sunglasses in the rear view mirror.

Tony tore his gaze from the trees, and nodded at Happy's reflection, his eyes remaining hidden behind his own pair of sunglasses. Used not to diminish the harmful effects of UV rays on his vulnerable eyes, but to hide the fear within them. "I told her, I didn't want to do this, I fucking _told her_, Happy." He suddenly exclaimed angrily, gesturing wildly in his frustration. "_Multiple times_, and while providing various reasons about why I did not want _any of this shit_, and what's she do? She turns around, sets up this whole big theatrical shindig, which, _of course_ I get pissed off about. Because I'd told her, right? I told her I didn't want this. But then, she has the nerve to get angry with _me_ for getting angry at _her_, which just seems completely fucking backwards. And she pulls the guilt trip thing, which drives me absolutely insane because, I swear to God, she's the most manipulative human being I've ever come across... ok maybe, _maybe_ Loki could give her a run for her money in manipulation potential but, c'mon... Happy? Are you gonna back me up here?"

Tony was watching Happy's reflection and gritted his teeth upon witnessing him actually smile and shake his head in all that unmitigated gall of his. "You're just nervous. There is absolutely nothing rational about your fear right now."

Tony scoffed loudly, "Nothing rational? Happy. You're _kidding_ me, right? You know exactly how risky this is-"

"Tony." Happy cut him off. Happy _never_ cut him off. Tony scowled. "You of all people should know that Pepper Potts doesn't leave loose ends. If she's confident enough to send you here, then she's taken every precaution." He flashed Tony a toothy grin in the mirror. "And the fact that _I'm_ ok with it doesn't comfort you at all? I'm insulted at your lack of trust in me, boss."

Tony glowered at the back of Happy's head, knowing that he was correct, but maintaining his rebellious exterior, because that's just what he did. He rebelled. Childishly. Against everything. He had yet to get to that particular checkmark on his notional to do list. But he wouldn't have much longer to stew in his failed protestations because a small white building with a steeple and a bell inside was swiftly approaching at the end of what was a very cliche, forested, dirt road.

An area too far out in the country, devoid of the towering structures of industry and progressiveness for Tony's liking, but perhaps that's what Pepper was going for with this location. An isolated, tiny country town in Indiana, the perfect place in which to get away with murder.

Happy stopped the vehicle, unbuckled his seatbelt. Tony's heart rate quadrupled. "Ready?" Happy asked, not at all nervous, but why should he be? It angered Tony regardless.

"I didn't mean all that, what I said about Pep." He said and at Happy's nod, Tony squared his shoulders and exited the SUV without a word, straightening his hoodie and maintaining confidence that he would present himself in his normal clothes, slightly scruffy and unkempt for the sake of 'blending in', like a fucking _boss_, and no less than that. He was Tony Stark, he made everything look good. "Hey, Happy. You think I'll just spontaneously combust immediately after setting foot in the foyer? God and I aren't exactly on the best terms. He doesn't like that I prove him wrong sometimes."

Happy chuckled. "Looks like you're gonna have to prove him right for once." He said, smiling. "By proving that miracles can happen when you finally walk in there. Now go, stop stalling."

Tony sighed, took a deep breath, sighed again, and walked confidently through the parking lot, which consisted of course gravel, spots for vehicles designated by nothing but rope and containing exactly seven cars plus his. He approached the chapel and stepped onto the porch where the door opened before he could knock, or just go in, or _whatever_ people were supposed to do at these things.

A man with messy brown hair and glasses greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. "You must be Tony." He said, and that alone made him slightly anxious but he took the hand regardless and smiled back.

"That's right. And you're... Hank?"

Hank nodded. "Nice to meet you, Tony." It was strange meeting someone whose eyes didn't sparkle with star-struck excitement at the mention of his very name. Tony enjoyed it. A refreshing change in pace he desperately needed. "If you'll please come with me, I'll show you downstairs."

He followed Hank, only partially hearing what he was saying, and discarding the small snippets he _did_ catch. Blood was roaring in his ears as they descended a flight of stairs and even if he'd wanted to hear whatever information Hank was regurgitating at him, he couldn't have deciphered it anyway. He found himself agreeing to a question he hadn't even comprehended with an absent nod, and before he knew it, they had entered through a door, and into a finished, well-lit basement, with eight folding chairs in a circle, and five men and one woman occupying six of them. And he was standing before them. They were watching him expectantly, those nameless people _just like him_, and all of them had kind faces, and bright smiles and _what the hell was he supposed to do again?_

He probably looked extremely foolish for a good ten seconds as he stood there in a stupor while he composed himself, but they displayed no outward judgement and more importantly, no _recognition_, and Hank moved to settle in the empty chair next to the one he stood behind. Tony gave them all a reluctant smile.

"Everybody, this is Tony." There was a chorus of 'Hi, Tony,' which was emitted enthusiastically by all in attendance, and Tony felt his face burn and the involuntary grimace which followed only made it worse. "Why don't you introduce yourself and tell us why you're here?"

And Hank's words were a miracle because it snapped him out of whatever twighlight zone in his mind he'd retreated to. He realized then that he did actually recall something Hank had told him as they'd walked together. The way he was supposed to start this off. That Tony had agreed to start.

And he'd be _damned_ if he didn't have the intestinal fortitude to start off the entire meeting with his story.

He had to start somewhere. He looked at them all collectively, and stood up straight, reigning in his racing heart and swallowing hard. "Hey guys." He began, far too quietly for Tony Stark, but just perfect for 'Tony', and offered them a little two-fingered wave. They were smiling, accepting, genuine people and they waved back. "So, I guess I'll start this thing off with the basics." Nodding encouragement, they waited patiently. He cleared his throat, found his voice and finally told them. "My name's Tony, and I'm an alcoholic."

**End**

_**A/N**__: Oh my god, it's done. Woo! Go me!_

_Let me know how you feel the ending turned out, if it was everything you expected, or something better, or even if you didn't like it. But please keep it civil. Constructive criticism, remember? Oh and... sequel potential? I have some ideas. Big ones. Let me know._

_I wanted to thank all of you so, so much for keeping me motived throughout this. Every single one of your reviews was something special to me. A few people I'd like to mention who reviewed damn near every chapter: _

_Jesters of the Moon, your long, in-depth reviews just pumped me up so damn much! Ugh, if I knew you, I'd hug you._

_Ghost Rider of the Aragon, Same for you, you always left constructive reviews, even giving me some insight into Natasha's character, which I ended up using, so thank you!_

_Post u Later, left amazing reviews and the first letters in all the words were always capitalized, not only making me laugh, but showing me that every word was given thought. _

_Elizabeth14 both on and off her account left reviews for every single chapter._

_But, there's lots of you, and I'm very tired, and it's 6am here after 24 hour duty... ugh. Just once again, thank you, and if I forgot you, I'm sorry. I thank you regardless. 97 reviews for 9 chapters is pretty damn good so Lets see if we can make this last one just fucking explode. Would make me incredibly happy, guys._

_Dark Horse is being worked on, and let me tell you, I've got some sinister stuff in store for my man Stark. I'm sorry, but he just hurts so pretty. If you like Tony Whump, keep an eyeball out for an update!_

_'Till next time. Stay awesome._


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